Mass Effect: First Contact
by JLake4
Summary: In 2157, an Alliance expedition to open Relay 314 is interrupted when the ship breaks down in deep space. Their final message sets in motion a series of events that introduces the Systems Alliance to the galactic community in the worst possible way, and changes everything. AU Rated M for language. Please review!
1. Prologue

A ship shaped vaguely like a flying wing passed silently through the eternal night of outer space towards their objective. Aboard the bridge overseeing the crew is Captain Johnson.

He stood tall as he walked among the crewmen performing their various functions. With every moment he and his crew progressed further from home, the Sol System. They were, at that time, the furthest anyone had ever been from Earth.

His ship was a frigate-class vessel at the top of the line. It had been retrofitted with the newest faster-than-light drive manufactured in the Systems Alliance. She was the SSV _Coral Sea_, a ship of war at the time of her construction but an exploratory vessel nowadays.

Johnson ran through the figures in his mind. Ninety-two souls were on the crew roster, mostly scientists and engineers. Two powerful mass accelerators ran along both wingtips, a newly refitted drive core, and the experimental and blindingly fast FTL drive completed the _Coral_ _Sea_'s complement.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his executive officer on this mission, Commander Thora Buckley. She'd been assigned to the _Coral Sea_ for her science chops, which put Johnson ill at ease at first. She was fresh out of the Alliance Naval Academy Class of 2155, untested, and he had every reason to doubt her at the time of her appointment to his crew.

Buckley had proven him wrong though. She was a gifted administrator and had a way with people that he didn't. Part of him attributed that to her above-average good looks. She was too young for him, but the crew was on roughly the same age bracket as her. However it happened, she had rapidly gained the respect of everyone on the _Coral Sea_.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Captain?" she asked, handing him a mug of coffee. She took a long drink of her own.

"You know, sayings like that kind of lose their potency in space," Johnson said, motioning to the blackness outside of the windows. It was blackness, too. In FTL, the stars were not visible at all. He sipped at his own coffee, feeling the warmth spreading in his chest.

"I guess they do," Buckley agreed, stepping behind her console and placing the coffee mug on top.

"Is there anything going on below decks?" Johnson asked after a beat. He hadn't left the bridge for hours at this point, preferring to stay where he was in control. Down on the crew deck, if there was an emergency, he would waste precious time getting to the elevator, waiting for it, and riding it up.

"Nothing of note," Buckley said distantly, pressing at the keys.

"How's the new FTL drive holding up?" Johnson asked almost immediately.

"We're getting some strange fluctuations in speed, and they'd get serious if we weren't stopping as soon as we are. The drive is losing speed inexplicably and overworking itself trying to compensate, and then we pick up unsafe speed levels. Engineering says they're watching it like a hawk, though," Buckley reported, looking up every so often at Johnson.

Johnson didn't give anything away. "Make sure they do. If it looks like it's being overtaxed we can stop."

"Aye aye, sir," Buckley acknowledged, going back to work at her console.

"Helm, what's our distance to the relay?" Johnson asked the helmsman, seated at the front of the bridge.

"3,253 kilometers and counting," the helmsman replied woodenly.

"Getting tired?" Johnson asked, concern permeating his voice.

"No sir," helm replied.

As Johnson looked forward, the stars suddenly appear in the windows, and moments later an alarm sounds. The bridge crew all snapped their heads up, looking at their consoles.

"What's the problem?" Johnson asked, alarmed.

The crew does their individual systems checks, and Buckley finds the problem. "It's in engineering sir!"

Johnson punched up a code to open communications with his engineering chief. "Chief, what's happened?"

"Captain, the FTL drive's safeguards tripped. The readout is saying there was an object detected 500 kilometers in advance of the ship, and it powered down," engineering replies.

Johnson turned and looks out the window. At first he doesn't see anything, but after a moment he saw before them the distant form of an asteroid drifting through space, eclipsing the stars behind it.

"It's a damn asteroid," Johnson reported to engineering.

"Well, Captain, our problems don't end there. We were picking up odd speed fluctuations in the FTL drive, caused by an inexplicable…"

"Commander Buckley already filled me in on the FTL drive speed issues," Johnson said, pressed for time. Explanations could wait.

"Alright, sir. The drive suffered some damage from the sudden cut out, it was in one of its acceleration phases and the extra strain on it caused a few cracks. We're investigating the possibility of any radiation leaks as we speak," engineering continued.

"Keep the lower decks on lockdown then. I don't want anyone to enter or leave until it's for certain that there is no radiation leakage," Johnson ordered, switching to his deeper and more convicted command voice. The change is imperceptible to any outsiders, but _Coral Sea_ veterans know it when they hear it. The old hands on the bridge buckle down.

"Aye, sir," the chief engineer said, hesitant. Everyone on the bridge knew that he could very well be putting the nails in his own coffin.

After the longest ten minutes they had experienced until today, the bridge crew finally heard from engineering. "Captain, there is no hazardous radiation leak."

Collectively the crew exhaled, and a few people let out quiet cheers.

"However, sir, the damage to the FTL drive is pretty serious. The sudden discharge of power fried a lot of the internal components and nearly severed a coolant line. The coolant is where we were afraid of a radiation leak, and we're going to set to work repairing it now. It's nearly burnt through but the coolant stopped flowing when the drive stopped running," engineering reported.

"How soon can we get underway toward home?" Johnson asked. Relay 314 was out of the question with a crippled FTL drive.

"We can move in less than an hour if we can patch up the coolant pipe and fill in the cracks in the casing," the engineer said.

"Be careful. We don't want a fix like that to fail," Johnson said. If radiation floods engineering, they'd be pretty much shit out of luck.

"We're working on it now, actually, sir. She should be ready for a test activation in about twenty minutes," engineering said.

"Alright," Johnson acknowledged, and breaks the connection.

"You all heard that. Prep me a test FTL jump maybe 100 kilometers away from here, perpendicular to our previous flight path," Johnson ordered the helm.

The bridge began to move, the less essential positions like communications or LADAR sitting still while the helm and engines stations moved more quickly.

Ten minutes later, helm reported they were ready for a short-range FTL jump.

"Engineering, status report," Johnson said over the comms.

"Captain, we've patched it up as best we can," engineering came back after a few seconds. The sounds of welding could be heard behind his voice as he transmits.

"Are you sure? We can't take any risks," Johnson asked.

"We're confident the welds will hold," engineering confirmed.

"Go for jump," Johnson said to the helm.

"Aye sir, go for jump. Entering FTL in five, four, three, two, one," helm counted down, and the stars disappear again, and reappeared a few seconds later.

Something else that appeared was a multitude of yellow lights flashing across the bridge. Johnson's heart jumped into his throat.

"Radiation leak!" helm reported.

"Lock down engineering and crew decks. I don't want any air transfer between them," Johnson said quickly. He had to act fast to save his ship.

"Sir, the coolant tube weld didn't hold! God save us, it didn't hold!" engineering said, the sounds of escaping gas and anguished chokes nearly drowning his message out.

"Captain, radiation is reported spreading into the crew deck," another technician reported. He doesn't see which. He was too busy contemplating the decision he's about to make.

"Captain! Radiation levels are increasing throughout deck 2!"

"Engineering has no detectible life signs."

"Captain Johnson, sir, the coolant is freezing power lines in engineering, they're getting brittle and snapping, we have to shut down the drive core or we'll lose…"

The lights went out at that moment and aritificial gravity failed. The crew grabbed onto their consoles and watched the power start to fail, nonessential systems- propulsion, weapons, LADAR- shutting down to save power for communications and life support.

_Check, _he had only one move left.

"Use emergency power to vent engineering and crew decks. We have to clear the radiation," Johnson said, barely audible. He couldn't bring himself to say it any louder.

"Sir!" Buckley protested. "There has to be another way, there's eighty good men down there we'll be sentencing to death!"

"If the radiation spreads any further we'll be in danger," Johnson countered. "Vent the decks."

Buckley began to sob as she pressed the keys and the ship shuddered, expelling its now terminally ill passengers into the void. Her makeup made her face into a grotesque painting.

"Send the following message to Arcturus: Sudden drop from FTL caused catastrophic systems failure. Unable to reach Relay 314, entire crew lost to radiation and asphyxiation," Johnson said, his voice failing to maintain its composure.

Buckley nodded and sent the plain text message through space, shortly before the rest of the power went out.

"Get some vacuum gear together, we need to get down there and fix the drive core," Johnson said, grimly aware of every breath he takes, knowing now it will be one closer to his suddenly sooner demise. _I have to give the crew hope, though. _


	2. Reactions

_Author's Note: _

_I rewrote the incident on the expedition into the prologue. It seemed like a better stylistic choice than the previous setup. Hope it works out for everyone! Shoot me a message if you think otherwise. Input is good!_

_Thanks, Lake_

* * *

**February 23, 2157**

**Arcturus Station**

**Admiral Jon Grissom**

He awoke to a headache unlike any he'd found waiting for him before. Contact had been lost with the latest expedition to a relay, and the media was already painting it as another Manswell Expedition. The VI in his cabin had logged a few hundred requests for information to his office since midnight.

He had held that the rate of expansion was too damn fast. The powers to be had ignored that though, and it was only a matter of time before someone got stranded too far out to be rescued. Now there was a tragedy on their hands: the loss of a hundred or so people in deep space. Somewhere else he thought about the loss of the cruiser as being another major tragedy, but it wouldn't do him any favors to say that out loud.

The VI continued to log more requests, and Grissom swung his feet out of bed and stood up, hearing the creaks and pops like an old ship's and feeling the age wash over him as he did so. The darkened room automatically brightened, and he found his dress uniform and put it on. It was likely he'd need it today.

The new Alliance blue uniform was sharp, though. The gold trim traced his arms and legs and framed the dark blue field of his legs and chest. He pulled his cap off of the shelf and ran his fingers along the brim. The medals on his chest shined brightly, polished to luminescence.

With a short chirp his personal communicator alerted him that his secretary was at her desk.

Grissom left his room and entered the corridor, which was mostly deserted. He inhaled sharply and proceeded toward his office, two floors down.

Across the station, most people were still asleep, and the corridors he used were all empty. He ran across a group of lieutenants moving toward the hangar bays, but no one else. He reached his office without incident and saw his secretary settling in.

Ordinarily Ms. Wilkins would've been surprised to see him so early, and he should've been surprised to see the elderly woman here so early as well- but they both got the alerts from the VI that it was going to be a busy day. Of course, Ms. Wilkins didn't know what was happening, whereas the VI told Grissom they'd lost contact with the 314 expedition.

"Good morning, Admiral," Ms. Wilkins said happily. She was easily the cheeriest person Grissom had ever met, even though she had a monumental task before her every day. VI's had replaced most secretaries across Alliance space, but Grissom liked having a human secretary, and Ms. Wilkins was happy to be there.

"Good morning, Ms. Wilkins," Grissom replied, flashing a toothy grin at his secretary.

"Did they open the 314 relay today?" she asked, confused at having been roused at such an early hour and with such a situation on her hands. Grissom turned and closed the door.

"No," Grissom replied, turning around to face Ms. Wilkins.

"What happened?" she asked, the smile fading from her face.

"We lost contact with the ship sent to open it," Grissom said lowly. Ms. Wilkins' eyes widened.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know yet. Right now we'll need to deal with the media," Grissom replied.

"How'd they find out?"

That gave Grissom pause. How had the media found out so soon? "You know, I don't know."

Ms. Wilkins nodded and turned to face her console. "There's an emergency meeting upstairs in the Admiralty in fifteen minutes."

"I'm on my way," Grissom said quickly, turning to leave the room.

Ms. Wilkins nodded and signaled the VI upstairs that Admiral Grissom was on the way.

* * *

Upstairs, twenty minutes later, Grissom entered the chamber, furnished with nice English oak wood that gave it a twentieth-century feeling. Already present were Admirals Kastanie Drescher and Anders Madsen. He was the third to arrive, and therefore not the only one late.

"Admiral Grissom, good to see you," Drescher said. Madsen nodded curtly, massaging his temples and displaying big bags under his eyes from many sleepless nights.

"Any new developments?" Grissom asked.

"A message was received, but it was plain text and distorted. All we got was that the ship was crippled and most of the crew was killed by radiation and atmospheric loss," Madsen said, as if giving a report to a superior officer, despite the fact he and Grissom shared the same rank.

"It was crippled and vented atmosphere?" Grissom asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Nobody is sure that it was attacked," Drescher interjected.

"There are only a few reasons why a ship would be flying fine one moment and crippled and leaking radiation and venting atmosphere the next," Madsen shot back.

Grissom took a seat at the round table in the middle of the room with Drescher to his left and Madsen to his right. The two were still arguing about the likelihood of an attack on the cruiser when a fourth Admiral entered the room- Stefan Wagner.

Wagner was known across the Alliance as the biggest hawk in the Navy. This was going to get ugly.

"Good morning," Wagner said to all present in a thick German accent.

The three admirals had stood as he entered, and nodded before retaking their seats around the table. Wagner joined them and placed his cap atop the table next to a data pad he produced with his other hand. He peered out at them beneath close cut brown hair and with piercing blue eyes.

"What news from 314?" he asked.

"We just received a plain text message from the ship we sent to open the relay," Madsen replied.

"The message said that they had suffered damage and were losing atmosphere. Also, there was a radiation leak apparently. The fact it was plain text means they were likely running off of the emergency generators," Drescher explained, carefully choosing her words to avoid giving Madsen and Wagner any fuel to go on a wild goose chase with half the Alliance Navy.

"Would you say, then, that our ship was crippled?" Wagner asked.

"It isn't clear that it was an external force that crippled the ship," Grissom broke in, seeing what Wagner was baiting the other two into admitting: something had crippled the ship, rather than the mechanical failure it most likely was.

"I see," Wagner said, shifting his eyes to Grissom. From his peripheral vision, Grissom could practically see Drescher exhale in relief. "May I see the message?"

Drescher pushed her data pad across the table to Wagner, and he studied the message intently.

_Sudde FTL aused cataphic systems failre. Unle to reach Re 314, enti rew lost to riation and asphyxtion._

"I gather from this that the crew is already lost, and therefore going after the ship would be a useless gesture," Wagner said after a moment. "I put forward that we send a fleet to the relay."

"That's absurd!" Drescher objected. "We cannot justify mobilizing an entire fleet to the 314 relay. It would be massively expensive and frankly speaking we're too thinly spread as it is."

"Would it be more important to show our people we won't be scared by the loss of a single cruiser or that their taxes shouldn't go up briefly to pay for such an expedition? Think about the resources we could find through the relay," Wagner counterpointed.

"I agree with Admiral Wagner," Madsen said. The lights came up to signal them that the door had opened again and all turned to see the face of the newest Admiral in the Alliance Navy, Nitesh Singh. The stocky man of Indian heritage smiled vaguely at the assembled admirals and took a seat between Drescher and Wagner.

Upon being updated, Singh hesitated to weigh in until the lights dimmed again. "I do believe that something must be done, we cannot just concede the 314 relay to never being opened."

Wagner and Madsen buoyed up at this news. Another ally had been found for their cause, or so they'd figured.

"But I do not also believe that we should send a whole fleet in after it. That seems to me to be rather too much power in the event there's nothing there," Singh finished after thinking about how he'd come down on this debate.

Wagner maintained his composition but Madsen fought the effort to roll his eyes so hard it wouldn't have been surprising if his head exploded across the table.

"A wise move, to be so cautious," Wagner told Singh. Now Drescher rolled her eyes for real.

"What do you think, Admiral Grissom?" Drescher asked, hoping for her own ally.

"I think we have to recover the ship and the bodies, and bring them back for proper burial," Grissom said, his voice even. The admirals all found themselves nodding agreement at that objective.

"And of Relay 314?" Wagner asked, putting his data pad down and producing an image of Relay 314 taken from extreme range.

Grissom paused. The show of strength would definitely be good PR, even if there was nothing there. The only objection Drescher had was that the costs would be too great.

"I think we should send the Third Fleet," Grissom said evenly. "It's small and fast, and can get out if things go sideways."

Admiral Singh paled somewhat. "The Third Fleet? Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's not assigned to a specific area and is quicker than the rest."

Wagner stood, gathering his things. "Very well. I will communicate that plan to Prime Minister Cole."

Wagner came back several minutes later, his eyes betraying nothing. "The Prime Minister has authorized the departure of the Third Fleet to Relay 314. However, he has placed me in temporary command."

Grissom felt unsurprised by that news. It seemed pretty obvious that Wagner would want to lead the rescue operation, if it would still be called a rescue operation with him in charge. Grissom felt sure it would become a witch hunt.

"We leave immediately."

* * *

**February 26, 2157**

**Near Relay 314**

**Laernus Adornnius**

The Y-shaped turian cruiser shot through space to the point where they had detected a spike of heat near the relay. First contact protocols be damned- the relays had to remain dormant or they could risk another Rachni War.

"Captain Adornnius, a small cruiser-class ship is adrift in an asteroid field," one of the technicians reported. He returned to working diligently below Adornnius' station atop a podium in the center of the CIC.

"Make best speed toward the ship, and attempt to warn them away from the relay," Adornnius ordered confidently.

"The profile doesn't match any known ships," the same tech reported.

"I know."

The technician turned back to his haptic interface and began typing rapidly on the orange holographic buttons.

They reached the vessel quickly, and Adornnius saw it adrift in a cloud of its own atmosphere, which was slowly expanding.

"It seems the primitive ship has suffered some kind of structural failure," Adornnius said to no one in particular.

His adjutant, Lieutenant Tudeli, approached from behind and dutifully saluted the Captain.

"Captain, we intercepted a transmission from the craft, sent at roughly the time of the heat spike. It is in an unknown language."

Adornnius brought the message up on his omni tool. His second in command was correct- the language was indecipherable. He shut down the omni tool and resumed looking out at the mysterious ship.

"Prepare a boarding party," Adornnius ordered, sending Tudeli running down a corridor toward the hangar.

Adornnius himself followed, descending in an elevator to the hangar bay. Already a team of soldiers had lined up with their equipment readied, standing before the entrance of a shuttle.

"Be ready to go EVA, men," Adornnius said, grabbing a helmet from the equipment racks and fitting it on his head. With a sharp sucking noise the helmet created a seal between his armor and itself.

The soldiers all grabbed their own helmets and the group loaded into a ship. The hangar bay cleared and the shuttle flew out into space, reaching the derelict vessel. An alarm alerted all within the shuttle that no port existed for them to dock with, and that they would have to go EVA.

The pilot's compartment sealed up atmosphere vented slowly, equalizing the pressure with outside. The door opened, and Adornnius was the first to drift out and come into contact with the vessel.

He searched along the hull for a point of entry, and found none readily visible. He drifted along the underside of the ship and came up on the far side, trailing his boarding team behind him. Along the far side of the ship a panel had pushed up to allow for atmosphere to vent, and the boarding team condensed around him as he worked with his omni-tool to burn through the mechanism holding it to the ship.

After a few minutes of concerted effort the team lifted the panel off and lofted it off to the side, revealing an opening barely big enough for a turian to fit through. Adornnius pulled himself into the cramped duct, and after burning through three or four grates and filters, emerged into what appeared to be a galley.

He switched on the light affixed to his pistol.

First, Adornnius registered the bodies of about a dozen beings floating about the chamber, frozen with their fingers curled into fists at their throats. He made way for the other members of the boarding team to enter the room, who also reacted with similar indifference to the corpses that drifted between them.

"Captain, the engine room is behind these doors, judging by the severe radiation I'm reading," the leader of the boarding team, Sarasi Arterius, a young but talented soldier, reported.

"Leave them closed," Adornnius ordered, turning to look forward in the ship. He pushed himself along the ceiling toward the forward batteries, which existed behind locked doors, presumably also flooded with radiation.

Silently disappointed, Adornnius moved aft and found an elevator shaft, which he entered. The total darkness was disorienting, even with the flashlight, and he followed it upwards, where he presumed the bridge would be.

Another locked door- this time his scans yielded high CO2 levels- lethal to just about any living thing in Citadel space. Smirking somewhat he pried the door open, and it gave with ease without power locking it down.

A rush of CO2-laden air pushed Adornnius back into the elevator shaft, but stars lit the room dimly, revealing the nightmarish condition within.

Ten bodies lay around the room, holes in their temples from mass accelerator rounds. To Adornnius, it seemed as though they passed around a pistol and took their own lives as breathable air became impossible to find. He wasn't sure if he was disgusted or saddened. He settled on pitying the primitive things, who had most likely just discovered the relays and deep space travel.

At the head of the room was a chair surrounded by data banks, guarded in death by a man in uniform, his fingers tucked eternally into the collar of the shirt.

"I've found their control console," Adornnius said through his helmet communicator. He cursed again the lack of power and set about trying to find some kind of data pad or piece of storage equipment he could remove and take back to his ship, but failed to do so in the near-complete blackness, even with his pistol flashlight.

"Captain, in total we've found about eighty bodies," Arterius reported from below.

"Exactly how many?" Adornnius asked, perturbed somewhat by this slip in professionalism.

"Eighty-two," Arterius replied. The self-scolding was evident in his voice, which was more than Adornnius could do for him. Connected brothers or no, he was still quite young for a command of his own.

"I have ten more up here," Adornnius said, taking a quick count of the dead bridge crew.

He continued feeling along the console and found a panel in the back that opened up with a little prying. It revealed the inside of the console and a series of wires and plastic boards- primitive computer technology. It was a marvel they'd been able to expand out from their home star with this sort of rubbish.

"Take a body for examination. I want full quarantine procedures observed, Lieutenant," Adornnius dictated to Arterius. "We're leaving."

Adornnius made for the elevator shaft and reached the door before a light on his heads-up display signified a message from the ship.

"Report," he said flatly.

"Captain, we're picking up massive heat readings dropping out of FTL about a light second away," Tudeli reported.

"What make are the ships? Are they friendly?"

"I think they are the same make as the ship you're in, Captain," Tudeli answered quickly.

The enormity of that struck Adornnius like a thunderclap. They were aboard a crippled vessel tearing it apart for information, floating around its dead crew. Any sentient would immediately conclude they were responsible for its crippling.

"Make ready to jump to FTL. We'll be returning in minutes."


	3. The Battle for Oma Ker

**February 26, 2157**

**Relay 314**

**Admiral Stefan Wagner**

The alien ship was parked directly above theirs, and they appeared to be salvaging it.

"Prepare to engage," Wagner ordered his orderly, who transmitted the message to all warships in the Third Fleet. Admiral Singh stood behind him, watching silently.

"Firing solutions are drawn up, Admiral; all ships are prepared to fire."

"Send a message back to Arcturus Station- 'have found alien vessel salvaging our cruiser. We are engaging.'"

The orderly acknowledged that the message was sent, and took her seat. At this point, the next series of orders would all be relayed to the weapons officer. The rest of the bridge was still bustling with activity. Officers moved this way and that, rushing to action stations.

"All ships fan out into a combat formation. Send the scout flotillas around behind them to prevent an escape," Wagner ordered, hoping this ship's crew would be more focused on the large ships in front of it than the frigate packs encircling it.

"Foreign ship is powering up, and turning toward the relay. They're going to make a break for it," another officer reported.

"They can't escape to warn their brothers," Wagner stated.

"Aye, sir," the weapons officer replied, grimacing.

"Fire weapons," Wagner ordered flatly. His flagship, a top-of-the-line cruiser, the _SSV Chicago_, shuddered as its mass accelerators fired the first rounds of the salvo aimed at the alien craft.

Rounds impacted the stricken human vessel and it vaporized as the already unstable reactor went critical and exploded. The alien craft had already gotten free of the blast radius and was moving hastily toward the other relay in the system.

Unfortunately for the turians, a squadron of frigates lying in wait beyond a nearby asteroid emerged and fired a series of ship-to-ship missiles before closing range and hammering it with their main guns. Their barriers held through the missile barrage, but collapsed as soon as the other guns began hitting it.

"Close range and finish them off," Wagner ordered.

"Admiral, they've either lost power to their engines or cut the power to their engines," the weapons tech announced after another hit on their hull caused the ship to fishtail through space.

"We couldn't jam them, Admiral; their communications tech wasn't even fazed. A message got away through the mass relay," the communications officer said from over her console.

Wagner took the news well, considering. "Then we follow it through the relay."

That announcement clearly disturbed the bridge crew, but they followed orders. "What about that alien ship?" the weapons tech asked.

"Destroy it," Wagner ordered. "They fired on our ship first."

From another cruiser in the fleet a series of mass accelerator rounds made a direct hit in the center of the alien ship and blew it into five different pieces. Atmosphere caught fire in strange bursts of flame in the immediate vicinity of the ship, looking something like secondary explosions from a ground vehicle being destroyed.

Without being ordered, the _SSV Chicago_ jumped to FTL with the rest of Third Fleet, decelerating immediately in front of the relay. The fleet regrouped before the 2nd Scout Flotilla disappeared through the relay.

Wagner sent his cruiser through the relay next, after a report returned that it was all clear on the other side, and the Third Fleet followed.

* * *

"General, a message was received from your brother's patrol vessel," a turian communications officer said, saluting as he approached.

_Which brother?_ General Desolas Arterius wondered offhandedly. His youngest brother Saren was aboard a cruiser patrolling the Krogan DMZ for cross-service training, and the middle brother, Sarasi, was patrolling the Verge.

"It's Sarasi," the officer replied. "There's been an encounter with an unknown species. They're hostile."

Desolas' eyes widened. "What of his ship?"

"There was no other message," the officer stated. "The last word was that they were cutting their engines in an effort to enter a dialogue with the aliens."

"And after that… nothing?"

"No, sir," the officer responded.

At that moment another officer raced toward them, breathless. Desolas didn't recognize the armor he was wearing immediately, but saw it was a Blackwatch officer after a moment.

"General Arterius, I need a word," the Blackwatch officer said.

"You have my attention…" Desolas searched for an insignia, but found none.

"In private, General."

"Very well," Desolas said, following the Blackwatch officer to a secluded room away from his command center.

Once the door closed, Desolas growled, "What's this about?"

Instantly, the Blackwatch officer brought up a map on his omni-tool. It showed a planet, and across space, around the relay, about one hundred unknown contacts appeared. And kept appearing, too.

"What planet is that?" Desolas asked, aghast.

"This one. Oma Ker."

"Then we must raise the defenses!" Desolas nearly shouted, making for the door.

"General, I told you this in private because there is one more part to the news."

Desolas turned and faced the officer. "What is it?"

"Your brother's ship was destroyed by the aliens. We do not believe there are any survivors," the officer said calmly.

Desolas winced at the news, imperceptibly. As deaths go, it was not a good one. Killed by an enemy you yielded to was nothing to be written in the history of your unit. "I will personally kill any primitive who sets foot on this planet."

"Very good, General," the Blackwatch soldier said, and with that he pushed passed Desolas and into the corridor.

Desolas followed him out into the corridor, and strode purposefully into his command center. "Prepare defenses. A hostile fleet is in orbit."

The room exploded into motion as the defensive garrison casted off.

* * *

"Admiral, enemy ships are moving against us. I count five cruisers and one ship that's much bigger," the LADAR technician shouted from below Wagner.

"Fire on any ship in range. We've got the element of surprise, ladies and gentlemen!" Wagner nearly shouted. He watched the projectiles from his cruisers streak through space toward the targets moving within range of his fleet. "Send the 17th and 19th Scout Flotillas ahead to probe their frigate screen. I need a hole to push through."

Beyond the Chicago, a few dozen frigates and about one hundred fighters pressed on the shaky turian line. Now the turian ships began to return fire, and the counter fire was devastating on the human ships. The first human losses of the Relay 314 War were incurred at this point, as a series of explosions tore through the line of Alliance cruisers and destroyed one of them.

The frigates were suffering similar losses. They closed to within range of the turian cruisers' GARDIAN laser batteries, which tore through their barriers and shattered a half dozen outright.

Wagner observed the enemy's defensive tactics but was unmoved by his losses. A glancing blow on the _Chicago_'s barriers made the entire crew duck away from the bright flash, but they got back to work hastily.

Another salvo by the attacking force tore through two turian cruisers, but left the huge ship in the center completely unscathed.

Suddenly, the thing let loose with a massive shot that burned through the barriers of one of his other cruisers in one hit, and crippled it. Wagner's eyes widened, and he shouted, "Focus everything on that ship in the middle!"

Still another salvo from his diminished number of cruisers fired through space at the massive enemy ship, and they impacted across its barriers with frustrating inefficiency.

"Again!" Wagner shouted, and the cruisers poured fire into the enemy ship.

The aliens were not giving ground easily, and Wagner felt a stalemate setting in. His frigates had overwhelmed the enemy frigates, but he couldn't scratch the big ship in the middle. Another round from it blew through one of his cruisers, diminishing his forces even further.

"We must close the range with that big ship. If we stay at this range it will tear through us one at a time," Wagner thought aloud. He turned to his helmsman, and said, "Order the fleet forward. Close to point-blank range and engage that big ship with everything we've got."

"At that range we won't last long against those laser defense systems they've got," the technician monitoring the dwindling barriers around the _Chicago_ objected.

"At this range we won't last very long at all," Wagner responded calmly.

His fleet trundled forward in a rough arrowhead formation, all the while pouring fire into the enemy flagship, which was currently attempting to maintain its firing solutions, but failing as the cruisers closed.

The cruisers surrounded the ship, and began pouring fire into it from every angle, finally breaking the shields and causing damage directly to the ship.

Wagner lost another three cruisers before the big ship fell, venting atmosphere and firing flames out of a half dozen holes punched into it well toward the engines.

The now severely depleted third fleet turned to taking on the last pair of turian cruisers, both of which fell after a short last stand. With that, the short space battle over Oma Ker ended with a tactical Alliance victory.

"Send a message back to Earth. We've found them, and need reinforcements to press our advantage. Tell them to get here post-haste!" Wagner shouted jubilantly. He would be a hero after this: conqueror of the aliens that had killed the Relay 314 expedition.

An officer nodded and moved to relay the message.

* * *

Meanwhile, Desolas watched in shock as the key to his defensive operation burnt up on entry to the atmosphere. His dreadnought had fought well, and the crew had earned their places among the spirits. Desolas said a silent prayer as another secondary explosion ripped through the vessel and sent debris spinning toward the surface.

"General, sir, what are your orders?"

"Prepare for a siege. It won't be long; the Hierarchy won't stand for this treachery. Nonetheless, gather what supplies you can," Desolas answered. These aliens were something else. He never saw an enemy charge a dreadnought-class vessel before. It was mind-boggling.

He turned and walked back into the darkened halls of his command center. He opened up a map of Oma Ker, and the order of battle.

The Twelfth, Fifteenth, and Twenty-Third Legions were ready for battle and at full strength. His most elite Legion, the Seventh, was only half present. The lucky sons of varren in orbit had caught the transports in orbit and killed half their brothers in the most dishonorable method imaginable. All told, several thousand turians stood ready to defend the planet- not counting the two hundred million who would take up arms against the invaders.

The aliens would walk into a trap. It would become a slaughter.

Desolas grinned in the dark, spreading his mandibles in pleasure. The aliens were going to hand him the battle on a platter, even if the Hierarchy didn't arrive in time.

* * *

**March 1, 2157**

**Oma Ker, Aethon Cluster**

**Admiral Kastanie Drescher**

They had gotten their war. The hawks had outnumbered her, and that bastard Grissom hadn't lifted a finger to help her.

Her Second Fleet had found a field of absolute carnage. Wagner had driven the Third hard into the alien lines, losing more than half of the fleet, and had come screaming for reinforcements. They had ordered Drescher forward, and in two days she had mobilized.

Wagner's Fourth Fleet would be following her through the relay in three days' time, but for now, she had to land Marines on the surface and begin the process of taking the planet.

Her most important contribution would be the first of the McKinley-class dreadnoughts to be deployed, sporting one main turret that essentially made it the artillery of the Alliance fleet.

SSV _McKinley_ was, naturally, her flagship, and now was directing forces to relieve Wagner's beleaguered fleet.

As her fleet closed on Oma Ker, she was horrified to see that Wagner had begun bombarding the surface of the planet.

She stood up from her chair abruptly and grabbed the nearest communications tech and had her establish a live link with the SSV _Chicago_'s bridge.

"Admiral Drescher, so good to see you," Wagner beamed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Drescher nearly screamed.

"I'm fighting a war, here," Wagner shot back, suddenly far less bemused to see her.

"You're bombarding the planet. What basis do you have for that? Why are you doing it?"

"When you have the advantage, you press it, Kastanie. That's the first thing you learn in the Academy," Wagner defended himself, affecting a hurt face. "Are the Marines ready?"

"Yes," Drescher growled.

* * *

No more than an hour later, the First Marines Division began touching down.

The first set of boots on the ground belonged to Corporal Oleg Petrovsky. Young, but destined for higher command, he had proved in simulations to be an excellent tactician and a skilled fighter.

He primed his M8 Avenger and kept a clear perimeter as the rest of his squad disembarked behind him.

The ground was good for a fight, he thought. Open, flat, little cover. Smoke blew across the field in dense clouds. Off to the east a city was being bombarded and it burnt fiercely.

With a shrill whine the Kodiak shuttle that had deposited his squad on the surface took off into the sky, leaving them with the eerie silence and the distant sounds of war.

"The target is about a klick to the west," his sergeant, Roland Asztrik, said, pointing toward the city. The squad started moving that way cautiously, unsure even of what they were going to encounter.

As they approached the city, and the sounds of the bombardment began to abate somewhat, a figure darted through the drifting banks of smoke before them.

"Sergeant! I saw something," Petrovsky reported quietly, trying to reacquire the target.

"What was it?" Asztrik asked. "Can you describe it?"

"It was about as tall as we are, perhaps a little taller. Apparently it walked on two legs."

With an earsplitting cry an alien stepped out of the smoke, wielding a pistol.

Petrovsky couldn't believe his eyes, as he raised his rifle he took stock of the alien. It was bipedal, he had been right about that. He had also been right about the height- it was a little taller than the average human.

That's where the similarities ended. The head of the thing was crested by four spikes that pointed backwards, and it had beady sunken eyes like black marbles. The mouth looked almost like a beak, and was flanked by two mandibles with downward facing spikes on the ends near the mouth.

The alien was faster, though, and shot at the nearest human to it- Sergeant Asztrik. Wordlessly Asztrik was killed, and he dropped with a loud thud. Petrovsky fired with a few short bursts, killing the alien and leaving it in a pool of spreading blue blood.

"Follow me! We can still accomplish our mission," Petrovsky shouted to the squad. They nodded fearfully and ran into the smoke after him.

Emerging from the smoke, they found themselves in the urban environment of the city. Everything was grey- the buildings, the streets, everything.

The only things that weren't grey were the two dozen aliens that had turned to see them emerge onto the streets.

Each of them raised a weapon and began firing as Petrovsky's squad found cover. He collapsed his rifle and grabbed the sniper rifle off of his back, and checked that it was in working order. It was.

"Keep them busy!" he shouted to the nearest soldiers, motioning to his rifle.

The soldier nodded and shouted, "Suppressing fire!"

The rest of the squad began firing at the enemy positions up the street as Petrovsky opened the door to the structure next to them. He cleared the ground floor, full of furniture and an unlocked chest on the floor. Apparently it had contained a weapon before.

He proceeded up to the second floor and set up his rifle looking down into the street. His squad was doing a magnificent job of keeping their heads down, but the crests on them served almost as flags for a sniper.

With a deep crack, he fired the first shot that took one of the aliens through the top of the head. Its personal barriers didn't stand a chance, and it flopped over into the street. The others witnessed it and hugged their cover closer, making his shots more difficult.

Despite the difficulty, he managed to wipe out the defenders' front ranks, so the dozen or so further up the street had begun to shoot at his window. It was time to relocate.

Lugging the rifle with him, he crept through the darkened halls of the house. He heard a rustling sound in the room to his left and froze.

Silently he exchanged his sniper rifle for his Avenger, which opened with what seemed to be an extremely loud click.

He stacked up on the door and turned the corner rapidly, flicking his flashlight on to blind any opposition.

It didn't work, however. The opposition set upon him, knocking his rifle from his hands. Razor sharp talons tore at his armor, but only a few blows got through and contacted his skin.

He raised his right arm to block the next blow, while grabbing at his combat knife with the free hand. Now armed again, he ducked under the next blow and swept the legs out from under the alien, who landed heavily on the floor.

For a split second he wondered where to strike the killing blow. Was its heart in the same place? There wasn't any time, though, and he sunk the blade directly into the alien's analogue of a throat, all the while avoiding the thrashing talons.

Finally the thrashing stopped, but there was more rustling. Petrovsky turned to see what had to be a toddler grasping at his Avenger where it lay on the floor. It was clearly sobbing, and Petrovsky picked the rifle up out of its tiny claws.

Upon examining the body, he noticed a few physical differences. This alien had no head crests but vastly larger mandibles. He wondered if that was a gender difference, but with a renewed burst of energy the conflict outside asserted itself as the primary concern he should have.

The baby alien punched at his knee, though, asserting itself as an immediate concern as well. He couldn't kill a child. He grabbed it and set it on the bed, pointing a finger at it, as if ordering a dog to stay. He backed away swiftly and shut the door before the baby could escape.

Again he drew his sniper rifle and set it up a meter back from the window. A dozen targets later, the alien line was in disarray, and his squad had time to move up.

A low pitched whine began as an odd looking gunship raced up the street, firing a salvo of rockets that killed several of his men. A chin-mounted turret unleashed withering fire onto the survivors of the rocket attack, and Petrovsky acted.

Without hesitation he began firing as rapidly as possible into the cockpit of the ship. Its barriers were strong, though, and it ponderously rotated to face him, giving him time to change cover as the turret ripped through the window and walls where he'd been standing only seconds ago.

Rounding the next window down he threw a grenade to distract the pilot, and fired several more shots into it. The grenade attached itself to the fuselage below the cockpit and exploded, rocking the gunship violently and sending it spinning into the street below, crashing down in the no mans' land between his squad and the defending aliens.

He knew progress this way was going to be impossible. Judging by the chest downstairs, if every alien in the city carried a weapon, he was hopelessly outnumbered and severely outgunned if they had even a couple more gunships like that last one.

"Squad, fall back beyond to our start points," Petrovsky ordered. He changed channels. "This is Corporal Oleg Petrovsky, First Marines. We are encountering stiff enemy resistance in the city and need an orbital strike brought down on their lines to accomplish our objective. We are evacuating the city and need fire down on the streets, danger close."

"Roger that, Corporal Petrovsky, firing for effect."

He hardly had time to run up the hall before a series of violent explosions tore through the house and the streets below, throwing him bodily to the ground and causing the house to tip over and collapse into the street.

The opposite wall crashed onto his thigh and pinned him to the wall, which itself was dangerously close to collapse. Everything was pitch black, and he fought the urge to cough the dust up as he heard the heavy footsteps of the aliens go over the rubble.

"Corporal, are you still alive?" a voice in his ear asked. He shook his head and realized it was the radio.

"I'm still alive," Petrovsky whispered in reply. "I'm pinned in the building that collapsed."

"There are aliens all over the wreckage," the private replied. He couldn't tell who it was.

He strained as he pushed at the beam pinning him against the wall, and heard something begin to creak.

Suddenly, the wall gave way and he crashed down into a bedroom, occupied by the body of the alien he'd stabbed. Debris crashed down on top of him, but he scrambled out of the way before anything heavy came down.

Dust clouded the air again, but light filtered down through a hole he'd formed in the far wall. As far as he could tell, he was trapped in the bedroom. The ceiling had buckled with the impact, but he couldn't see out of it, so he assumed there was roof out there in his way. Both walls were surprisingly enough intact, and the door faced up toward the aliens.

Even now they were still sitting on top of the rubble, digging in. His squad would never make it up here.

* * *

General Desolas Arterius walked confidently through the command center that had become of city hall, which was primarily underground.

Incursions by the primitives had killed hundreds on either side, but the secret his strategy hid from them was that they weren't even fighting Hierarchy military forces yet. They'd only fought civilians to this point.

Before him were arrayed the commanders of the Fifteenth, Seventh, and Twelfth Legions. They had lain low so far, but it was time they struck back. The Seventh especially was eager for revenge.

"Generals, send your Legions to their first objectives. We'll commence in teaching these primitives how to fight a war."

The three turians saluted and dispersed, leaving Desolas alone in the room. The door slid closed, and he stared at the holographic display of the city.

It was dim, and the hologram cast a dirty yellow light across Desolas and the floor.

Lightly, almost imperceptibly, a pair of feet hit the ground. Desolas wheeled and found he was staring directly into the eyes of one of the primitives, who dealt a savage blow to his head.

The room spun as Desolas fell to the floor, and two more primitives dropped to the floor behind the first.

"Eva, Ben, lock that door down. I don't want anyone interrupting us," the first said.

"Who are you?" Desolas asked, in turian.

The first man nodded. He turned on an omni-tool and apparently started up a translation program. Some of his words came through.

"I am General Desolas Arterius. What are you?" he said.

It took a moment for the words to come through in a grotesque mix of every language programmed into the omni-tool.

The primitive in charge sighed in exasperation. "Eva, see if you can do something about this."

The other primitive, the one with longer hair, moved over and worked on the omni-tool, for a few minutes, as the third held a gun to Desolas' head.

"Any minute now my men will find us," Desolas said, uncertain if they could understand him.

"That is… unlikely," the leader replied, translated into perfectly clear turian.

"Where did you get that, primitive slime?" Desolas spat.

"I relieved one of your men of it," the leader replied coolly.

Desolas made to sit more comfortably and felt the cold barrel of the pistol pressed against his head roughly.

"I don't think you should do that," the third primitive hissed.

Desolas sighed, and settled back into his uncomfortable position. Held hostage by primitives… "What is it that you want?"

"We were sent by our superiors to behead the alien command," the leader said, lighting something he put in his mouth on fire, and blowing acrid smoke into Desolas' face. "It seems to me that we might have the opportunity for something greater. A high profile prisoner might make for an excellent source of information, or a bargaining chip."

"I will tell you nothing," Desolas said defiantly.

"You'll tell us something, I bet," the leader said.

Desolas didn't reply. He wouldn't dignify this space trash with a response.

"I gather that your population is well armed and well trained," the leader continued. "I know we haven't encountered regulars yet. When we do, our forces will probably be routed. That's why you're coming with us."

"I will do no such thing!" Desolas shouted.

"Easy, General, easy; we all know this room is soundproofed to prevent outsiders from listening in to your strategy sessions. They won't hear you calling for help," the leader stated. Desolas knew he was right. "Much better. Now, we'll be incapacitating you for a little while. It's nothing personal, but we can't have you screaming for help while we smuggle you out of here."

"Smuggle?" Desolas asked, before feeling a sharp pain in the back of his head, and blackness enveloping him.

* * *

**March 3, 2157**

**Oma Ker**

**Admiral Stephen Wagner**

The alien sitting across from him described itself as "turian."

"Was that the entirety of your fleet?" Wagner asked, for the umpteenth time.

"I… will tell you nothing," Desolas Arterius gasped. The interrogator beside Admiral Wagner stepped forward and dealt another savage blow to Desolas' gut with a rifle butt. The man who'd taken Desolas prisoner, Jack Harper, stood behind Wagner, in the shadows of the interrogation room. He'd given Wagner the omni-tool he'd stolen from one of Desolas' men in order to facilitate speech between them.

"Why are we being pushed back on the ground? Where are your units coming from?" the interrogator shouted at Desolas, his stinking breath suffocating him.

"Step back, primitive! Any day now the full measure of the Hierarchy will fall upon your pitiful 'fleet'!"

"That sounds like a threat!" Wagner joked. "We haven't seen any sign of some hierarchical fleet, or whatever it is you're saying."

"A message was sent home before your 'soldiers' disabled our communications. The fleet is assembling, and will destroy you all before you can react!" Desolas shouted.

"What was that ship we encountered on the first day? It was the one that took the entire fleet to bring down," Admiral Drescher asked, more reasonably.

"A dreadnought, the pride of the turian fleet," Desolas said, calculating his next move. He would just wait until…

"That was the pride of the fleet? And we destroyed it?" Wagner scoffed.

"There are thirty-six more," Desolas said, grinning.

Wagner's smile died a rather rapid death, and Drescher grimaced. "Thirty-six?"

"Yes, and I trust that it didn't take two fleets to take just one dreadnought down?" Desolas said quietly.

"No," Wagner said, before Drescher could say anything.

Drescher and Wagner left the room after that, leaving the interrogator to 'soften' the turian up some more.

"We don't need to beat him," Drescher objected, out of earshot of the crewmen around the room.

"I do not think human rights extend to something not human," Wagner said coldly.

"What if this thing isn't lying?" she asked next. "You know if we even encountered two or three of those dreadnoughts at once we'd be completely unable to take them down."

"Not necessarily," Wagner said. "We have the McKinley-class cruisers under construction, and they've got the most powerful shields humanity manufactures."

"Cruisers are completely ineffective against dreadnoughts," Drescher countered flatly. She had placed her hands on her hips and stared angrily at Wagner.

"Admirals," another voice broke in. Harper emerged from the shadows.

"You're the mercenary that caught the alien," Wagner said. "Well done."

"Thank you, Admiral. My team is ready to redeploy into the city. We need to get the specs on these dreadnoughts for our fleets to have any chance."

Wagner bristled somewhat, but turned to face Harper. His presence in the room seemed to dominate even two of the highest ranking military officers in the Alliance.

"We're headed down tonight," Harper said.

"Best of luck," Wagner said. As Harper left, he turned to Drescher. "Let's get back to the questioning."

* * *

It had been two days since the house collapsed on him and trapped him in this bedroom. The body next to him had begun to putrefy, and the smell was overpowering and something Petrovsky could not get used to.

In his long solitude, he had attempted to learn the enemy's language, with nothing to show for it. There had been a battle off in the distance, but the sounds had died out nearly a day ago, and since then there was nothing but silence.

Overhead, in the silence of the midday sun, he heard a familiar sound. A Kodiak!

"Attention, shuttle, this is Corporal Oleg Petrovsky," he said, coughing after two days of silence. He wiped his cracked lips with the back of his arm and coughed again.

"We hear you corporal. Where are you?" a voice replied.

"In the collapsed structure," Petrovsky answered.

"How long have you been trapped? The entire city is collapsed," a different voice said loudly.

"Settle down, Ben," the other voice cooed. "Do you have a flare, or something?"

"I do," Petrovsky said after a few moments of thought. He grasped at his belt and pulled a small orange cylinder from it. "I'm going to throw it through the opening."

"Do it," the voice replied. "We're watching."

Petrovsky struck the flare and threw it through the door frame and out the hole he'd created in the back wall two days previous. Red smoke burst from the end of it as it cleared the wall, and he heard the distant clatter of the canister rolling across the debris.

"We've got you, Oleg," the first voice said calmly. The whine of the Kodiak's engines grew louder until dust and smoke was forced back down the hole and into the hallway. A heavy thud indicated a pair of feet just touched the dirt, and Petrovsky saw the angular face and peculiar outfit of what appeared to be a civilian staring down at him.

His full head of brown hair blew around his face rapidly, but he didn't even blink as he stared down at Petrovsky.

"We'll get you out!" he shouted over the engines. A rope fluttered down along the beam that had nearly cut him in half two days ago, and he grabbed hold of it and felt it yank him off his feet and through the door. The rough edges of the hole in the wall slammed into his shoulder, nearly causing him to break his grip, but he held on.

Then he felt his feet hit solid ground, in the light. The shuttle retracted the cable and came down to land next to Petrovsky and his unknown friend. The door swung up and a muscular man with close-cut black hair dropped heavily onto the wreckage.

"Corporal Petrovsky, this is Ben Hislop. Ben and I are… contracted by the Alliance to do some work down here," the man said. He worked to fix his hair calmly, eventually returning it to a part up the middle.

"You mean like mercenaries?" Petrovsky asked.

"Something like that. We're more like specialists," Ben said.

"What are you doing now? How can I help?" Petrovsky asked, eager to get back into the fight, if for no other reason than to find his squad.

The two men exchanged looks. "Well, it couldn't hurt to let you in on our mission," Ben said quickly, looking around to make sure no aliens were creeping closer.

"Two days ago we captured a turian General named Desolas Arterius. After a period of interrogation, some technicians extracted the names and locations of the three highest-ranking officers planetside," the man said coolly.

"And we're going to kill them?" Petrovsky finished.

"Exactly."

"He's pretty sharp, Jack," Ben said. A reproachful look from the first man said he shouldn't have mentioned any names.

"Hop in," Ben said after he recovered. Something in the back of Petrovsky's mind told him he should never get on this man's bad side. The look he gave Ben was pure malice.

Ben climbed into the pilot's chair, leaving Petrovsky alone with the other man.

"What should I call you?" Petrovsky asked once they were airborne.

"You know, we intercepted turian communications yesterday after we hit our first of the three targets. According to our translation software, they complained of an illusive man appearing from thin air and assassinating their general. I like the sound of that- you can call me the Illusive Man," the man said, with a roguish grin.

"Alright, Illusive Man, what is our next target?" Petrovsky asked skeptically.

"A turian general, commanding their legion in the area. Their regulars cut ours to pieces once we made contact, and the three Legions on Oma Ker are the primary drivers behind that. Two have already been decapitated, and already the initiative is turning around in those sectors. The last one is here, and he's going to be paranoid with his security," the Illusive Man explained over the whine of the engines.

"Word is that he's somewhere in this city," Ben added from the cockpit.

"What is this about turians?" Petrovsky asked.

"That's what these freaks are, or at least that's what our prisoner says they call themselves," Ben shouted back. A rough patch of air pitched the shuttle upward and down again, hard enough to remind Petrovsky his shoulder was destroyed.

"I might need some medical attention for this shoulder," Petrovsky said, grimacing.

"We'll get it looked at," the Illusive Man said calmly.

"Hey Ja- Illusive Man," Ben called.

"Excuse me," he said, getting up and walking past Petrovsky. The two of them conversed for a minute or so, and the Illusive Man came back and buckled back into his seat.

"What's happened?" Petrovsky asked.

"The Alliance is getting signatures from hundreds of ships dropping out of FTL," the Illusive Man said. "We're getting back to the Fleet before they leave us behind."

"What about the Marines on the ground?" Petrovsky asked, horrified at the prospect of leaving them behind. These aliens would slaughter them to the man.

"They're being evacuated too. But we've got less than an hour before we need to be on our way to the relay."

* * *

Wagner watched in disbelief as still more ships appeared around the relay. They counted seven dreadnoughts- more than enough to destroy the Second and Third fleets both.

"Admiral, most of the Marines are getting off the ground now. It will only be an hour or so until they've all left Oma Ker," an officer reported.

"See if they can move faster. If we're caught sitting here, we'll lose half our ships," Wagner said quickly. His mind was racing. Desolas wasn't lying about the strength of his fleet, nor about how quick it would be responding.

His requests for the First, Fourth, and Fifth fleets to join him were roundly denied, in fact, the vote had been unanimous. Drescher had nearly stabbed him on the spot for even floating the idea, which seemed to him to be an overreaction. It had only been a week and people were throwing words like "quagmire" out liberally.

The alien fleet was disappearing into FTL as he spoke, meaning they had precious few minutes. They weren't even waiting to regroup before jumping toward the planet, as he had hoped. The first droplets of sweat beaded up on his forehead.

"Take the fleet to the far side of the planet," Wagner ordered. "They will hopefully be caught off guard by our disappearance."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman replied, and the ship jumped to FTL a few moments later.

They exited FTL around the side of the planet, and after a few minutes they saw the bulk of the enemy fleet drop right on top of a few unlucky troop transports that were promptly destroyed or captured.

Wagner cursed under his breath. Command was withholding the Fourth Fleet- his fleet!- on the far side of the relay, and putting the First and Fifth fleets on high alert since the battle stalled out. Drescher oozed of smugness when she wasn't desperately trying to keep the Second out of the way of this juggernaut rolling toward them.

"Admiral, they're forming up to sweep the space around Oma Ker," his LADAR technician reported. Wagner didn't even have to do the math on that one-they had more than enough ships to do it.

"Wagner!" a holographic representation of Admiral Grissom shouted suddenly.

"Admiral Grissom, now is not the time…" Wagner said, frantically working on a plan to extract both fleets and as many Marines as possible.

"First Fleet is being sent to relieve Fourth, and Fourth is going to help extract you. No further offensive operations are to be made. We're salvaging this debacle," Grissom said authoritatively.

"We've been cornered, Grissom, they're closing on us from all sides of the planet," Wagner reported.

"I'm going to lead Fourth Fleet through the relay and to their rear. We'll engage them and draw as much attention as we can before retreating through the relay. Second and Third had better be gone by that point," Grissom said.

"Very good," Wagner acknowledged, and Grissom's hologram disappeared. Three minutes later, Alliance ships began appearing on the opposite side of the enemy fleet.

"They're turning away, Admiral!" LADAR reported. Fourth Fleet would give them a half hour, tops, against this massive of a fleet.

"Transmit to the Marines they've got fifteen minutes before they are left behind," Wagner ordered coldly.

The message was sent as the Battle of Oma Ker began to end before before his eyes.

* * *

Across space, the Fourth Fleet found themselves in the fight of their lives. As they came through the relay they immediately ran afoul of a strong rearguard, consisting of more than one hundred frigates roving through space in packs.

As his frigates bogged down and his cruisers took hits, Grissom's plan of action went directly out of the airlock. Fully half of the enemy fleet parked between Second and Third Fleets and the relay, preventing any FTL escape, and all seven of the turian dreadnoughts had turned to face the relief effort.

Grissom knew of the capabilities of the dreadnoughts- the Alliance had already deployed one ship in that class, the _McKinley_. But McKinley was on the wrong side of the encirclement to help.

The first rounds from the enemy dreadnoughts smashed into the core of the fleet- the cruisers- and destroyed four outright, crippling the other three. In one salvo half of his strength was gone.

"Patch me in to Third and Second Fleet comms. I need Drescher and Wagner, NOW!" Grissom yelled.

The ship shuddered as another pair of turian frigates strafed his weakened barriers. The figures of Wagner, still maintaining himself as though his-Singh's- fleet wasn't about to be wiped out, and Drescher, who was breathing heavily.

"Fourth Fleet will be retreating in five minutes," Grissom announced. "We can't compete with that firepower. I need you to press outward and meet us or we will be forced to abandon you."

Drescher paled. "What about the Marines?"

Wagner still kept his composure, but asked, "How do you think I can do that?"

Grissom tackled the questions at once. "Leave the Marines. We'll have to negotiate a peace settlement. With this amount of force they could be at Earth inside of two weeks. Wagner, how do you think you break out of encirclement? Fight!"

The look on Drescher's face was haunted. She disappeared on that note, and a technician reported Second Fleet was leaving low orbit and driving toward the turian lines, with _McKinley_ taking the lead. That was one.

Wagner was being recalcitrant though. "I can't fight out of this in five minutes. If I drive toward you now we'll just be caught by flanking fire from those dreadnoughts!"

"The dreadnoughts are focusing on the Fourth Fleet," Grissom yelled, as another salvo of dreadnought rounds destroyed a couple of frigates and cruisers. How the hell they managed to target a frigate was simultaneously terrifying and impressive.

"We'll wait for Second Fleet to open a corridor," Wagner proposed. "Then Third will follow them out."

Grissom broke the connection out of fury. How could he go from being such a warmonger to such a damned coward in so little time?

Second Fleet was making good progress with the only Alliance dreadnought plowing a path through the turian light forces left to guard them.

Third Fleet was still waiting. The path was closing behind Second as their numbers dwindled under the heavy turian fire, but they were almost to freedom. The turian dreadnoughts shifted their attention, but their hastily aimed shots missed Second Fleet's flagship and hurtled into deep space.

"Fourth fleet, press them! Get those guns off of _McKinley_!" Grissom ordered, and all ships of the Fourth Fleet, those remaining, pressed toward the faltering advance of Second Fleet. The turians didn't bite, thought, and instead their frigate screen gave way to a solid line of cruisers that began hammering Fourth Fleet.

The turian dreadnoughts scored hits on _McKinley_, severely damaging her, but allowing the rest of Second Fleet an opportunity for escape, as no turian ships were in the line of advance they'd been taking.

Scuttling charges destroyed _McKinley_ after she'd been crippled, but sensors showed the full complement of escape pods had jettisoned toward Oma Ker. Grissom hoped that Drescher hadn't gone down with the ship, but wasn't sure either way if she had.

Checking one more time to see if Third Fleet was moving, and receiving confirmation it wasn't, Fourth Fleet broke contact and retreated with the remnants of Second Fleet toward the relay, and jumped back to their side.

Wagner watched the desperate flight of Second Fleet with a growing sense of dread. Drescher had lost as many ships as composed Third Fleet. He would have never escaped through that line.

If only he'd kept that damned general aboard. Then he would've had a bargaining chip!

As it was, the turian fleet closed on his without firing a shot. The standing order was to shoot anything that was in range, and several turian frigates fell prey to the waiting guns of his cruisers.

Without warning, one of his cruisers simply exploded, hit at extreme range by a dreadnought round. One minute later, the next cruiser in line exploded as well. Frigates streamed into the breach before it could be filled, and his entire fleet was in chaos.

A pack of frigates fired into a cruiser on their second pass and blew out the drive core, killing its engines and its power. As a result, the ship stopped moving and shooting, and the turians bypassed it.

That was how these things recognized surrender. Cutting the throttle and ceasing fire.

It struck him that the ship he'd destroyed a week previous had done the exact same thing as it fled Third Fleet's advance. He realized he'd killed a ship's worth of surrendering enemies- on Earth he would simply be a war criminal. Who knows what these turians did to war criminals?

Fear began to creep into his mind; a cold black knot enveloped his insides. He opened a channel to all remaining ships, shouting, "Fight for your lives! These savages will kill us to the man!"

Drescher emerged from her escape pod into the waiting guns of a dozen turian soldiers, their sunken black eyes beaming pure hatred.

She raised her hands above her head, praying that the aliens would recognize the gesture, and exhaling in relief as they did. A turian approached and tore the pistol from her hip and tossed it over his shoulder, before pushing her toward his comrades. The rest of the bridge crew was similarly disarmed as she watched.

Overhead in the night sky she could see the death throes of the Third Fleet, with several cruisers breaking apart in the upper atmosphere. If she'd had a communicator on her she would have heard Wagner's final message to the fleet, of whom only one ship-the ship forcibly disabled- survived.

Ben, Petrovsky, and the Illusive Man all watched in horror was the Third Fleet was destroyed, ship to ship. Except for one- the ship they were hauling ass to get to now.


	4. Still Waters Run Deep

**March 5, 2157**

**The Citadel**

**Councilor Tevos**

The nerve of the turians never ceased to amaze her. They antagonize a new species, get into a minor war, and keep silent about it. Thank the Goddess for the STG.

"The Hierarchy has it under control, we don't need Citadel intervention," the turian councilor, Veskian, shouted defensively.

"As a Council, it was agreed that the first interaction with a species should not be a crushing war that kills thousands," Tevos said, her words oozing poisonous sarcasm.

"_They_ attacked _us_, Tevos," Veskian said. "We were retaliating in kind."

"Did you try to talk? Or did you just dispatch half a dozen dreadnoughts to destroy their entire fleet?"

"Were you paying attention? That was a third of their fleet. And they left it behind to save the other two-thirds," Veskian yelled.

Tevos rubbed her face with her hands, attempting to maintain her calm.

"You have the right to defend yourself," Tevos allowed. "But Goddess help you if you follow them through that relay."

"We had no intention of doing that," Veskian lied.

"I'm sure," Tevos indulged the lie. She hadn't been in politics for centuries and learned when not to call a bluff for nothing. Veskian now knew if the Hierarchy went through that relay they'd be up to their mandibles in sanctions faster than they could call it an expedition. And she didn't even have to waste the breath explaining that to him.

Veskian left the room in a huff. Tevos let out an exhale as the door slid closed. She turned and faced the window, looking down onto the brilliantly purple Presidium. She'd lobbied for Thessian flora to decorate it this cycle, and won. It cast a calming glow across her office as she lightly sat in the chair.

She pulled up the intercepted after action report from the turian fleet and read the figures over again. It took seven dreadnoughts (eight if you count the one the lost a week ago) and about sixty cruisers to drive the aliens off. Almost two thousand prisoners had been taken, but the turians had lost several high ranking officers killed off by something referred to as an illusive man. One was missing, too…

The turians were so motivated to wipe them out because, she postulated, they were afraid of being replaced. These things put up a fight like no species encountered before, except perhaps the krogan. But unlike the krogan, they displayed an advanced grasp of naval tactics.

She sighed and ran her hand over her scalp, feeling each tendril individually.

"Send for Matriarch Lidanya," she said to her VI. A brief message indicated the matriarch was on her way. The _Destiny Ascension_ would go through the relay to establish peace. The ship was so new that most on the Citadel were unaware of it, and it was decades more advanced than anything anyone had. If anything could shock the aliens it would be that ship.

* * *

**April 8, 2157**

**Relay 314**

**Admiral Jon Grissom**

It had been a month of sheer terror. Mainly it was terror of the turians jumping through the relay and wiping them out, but there was the terror inherent in being kept at high alert for so long. Crewmen were having nervous breakdowns, paranoia was becoming a serious concern, and the fleets were slowly becoming more and more ineffective as a fighting force.

Word had not been received from Admiral Drescher, in fact, nothing had been heard from the far side of the relay. That was the worst part, in Grissom's opinion. If the aliens had sent a message saying "We're coming for you!" they could prepare, but nothing of their intent was seen or heard of.

Today, though, he forced himself to feel something else: pride. The graduation of a new class of N7 specialists was occurring, although the war weighed heavily on everyone's minds. No N7's had seen combat in the short battle for Oma Ker, though they were itching to be deployed.

In his crisp and starched dress uniform, Grissom was the center of attention. The room on Arcturus that was being used for the graduation ceremony was absolutely ornate, and completely out of place on a space station, even one of Arcturus Station's size. He wondered offhandedly what this room was used for when there weren't a hundred or so killing machines being given medals in it.

A young black man, shaved bald, stepped in front of him as he made his way toward the buffet. "Admiral Grissom, it's an honor to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Grissom said, smiling at the man. "What's your name?"

"I'm Junior Lieutenant David E. Anderson," the man replied. He offered a hand in lieu of a salute, which Grissom found unorthodox but refreshing. He took it and shook it, smiling for real this time.

"Your name's come across my desk more than a few times," Grissom said, metaphorically referring to his desk. He hadn't sat behind it since that morning the expedition to 314 had been interrupted.

"I hope it's good news," Anderson joked, giving him a sideways smile.

"It is. You're universally lauded as the best graduate of this program. Don't tell the others I said that," Grissom said, whispering the last part with a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder.

Anderson chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me, Admiral."

Grissom smiled again, and shook hands with Anderson a second time. "It was good meeting you, Lieutenant."

Anderson took his hand and shook strongly. As Grissom made to leave, he felt a hand on his arm. "Admiral, I didn't get a chance to go to Oma Ker. What are these things like?"

"They're tough, Anderson. And from what our frontline reports say, their entire population is trained to fight. Men and women. For the first three days we fought civilians without even knowing it, and then they unleashed their regulars, and they drove us back on every front. They're smart, they're strong, they're fast, and they're ruthless."

Anderson nodded contemplatively. "Thank you, Admiral."

"Any time," Grissom replied, honestly. "If you ever want to talk, send me a message. I need someone real to talk to."

Anderson lit up. "It'd be an honor."

"Just be careful with that," Grissom laughed, finally making his way to the buffet after Anderson moved to his seat.

After a solid meal of chicken and vegetables, everyone had taken their seats. Some politician- Grissom didn't bother to keep track of them- spoke his piece, extolling the virtues of the N program and the courage of the first class of graduates of the N7 program.

Grissom knew he was the keynote speaker of this thing, and had his speech ready.

Then a strange thing happened. An aide-de-camp loped onto the stage clumsily and nearly punched the microphone off of the podium in his effort to cover it up. He succeeded though; no one heard what he whispered in the politician's ear.

He met his gaze, though, and wasn't sure he liked what he saw. It was fear, but fresher than that humanity had been stewing in for a month.

A chirp from his communicator meant something was happening. He opened it up and keyed in a text message to Ms. Wilkins. _Whats happening?_

A few moments later the reply came back: _A ship just came thru 314_.

Grissom stood up so fast he nearly knocked the table over. All the glasses went over though, with one even falling to the floor and shattering.

That sound brought the entire room to silence, and they watched him rush through the auditorium.

He found his personal shuttle quickly and was off Arcturus Station within an hour. No word from the Fleet, for some reason, which didn't serve to make him feel any better.

As he left the station he cast a glance out at the shipbuilding yards around it- orders had been put in for twenty dreadnoughts, although reaching that figure was ludicrous. More materials were going toward rebuilding the Second Fleet than the dreadnoughts, although rumor had it that the McKinley class was going to be run out by a new class. Research from the performance of the turian ones had shown too many weaknesses in the McKinley class.

It was still awesome to see the flashes of the torches at work on the keels of the three dreadnoughts actually under construction. They'd be completed in about a year, though, which left the Alliance open to attack for quite awhile.

The thought struck him that that attack could be underway now.

As he approached the relay he ran through First Fleet, and gained a fighter escort to the relay itself.

In seconds, he was back at Relay 314, among Fourth, Fifth, and Second Fleets. There was discussion of combining the remains of Fourth and Second Fleets, but for now they were two separate commands.

The thing that stuck out to him was the massive ship situated in the center of them. It dwarfed everything the Alliance had. He found it hard to describe, as well. It seemed to be somewhat like a plus sign in shape, but in the center was a massive oval, which was hollow in the center interestingly enough.

Perhaps the strangest fact was that it hadn't begun attacking his ships.

His shuttle navigated its way to the flagship, the carrier SSV _Albert Einstein_. It was another state-of-the-art vessel, like the SSV _McKinley_, but with a totally different method of warfare- the ship deployed masses of fighters rather than wielding a single giant mass accelerator. It was a massive starship, nearing one kilometer long. Grissom would have been at the launch, but he was out here at 314 guarding the relay.

After docking he made his way to the CIC, an open space with antiseptic white floors and walls. He was greeted by the very pregnant frame of his new executive officer, Hannah Shepard. He genuinely liked the woman, working with her was a pleasure. In casting a sidelong glance at her, he noticed she still wore the wedding ring.

Hannah's husband had been a crewman on one of the many cruisers lost in Third Fleet, and was "Missing-presumed dead", something that kept Hannah from ever laughing too hard or smiling broadly enough. It clearly weighed on her mind.

She threw up a crisp salute, which Grissom returned. "Admiral, the ship has been hailing us for a few hours, nonstop. We didn't want to respond until you arrived."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Grissom said, making a mental note to try again to get that promotion to commander forced through. Command didn't want to promote her just before she went on maternity leave, but that was ridiculous, or so Grissom thought. "You know I think you should go on leave. You're going to pop any day now."

"I can't bear the thought of not being here, Admiral. I just can't think of those turians getting away with killing John," she said quietly.

"They won't," Grissom promised, unsure if he could keep it. "But promise me you'll stay within easy distance of a medbay."

She grinned. "You don't want the baby born right here in the CIC?"

"If it can be avoided," Grissom laughed. "Have you got a name ready?"

"Most times parents have a lot of trouble picking names, or so I read, but it was easy for me. I'll name him John, after his father," Hannah answered, the smile growing stronger. Her expression changed to one of shock. "He kicked me!"

Grissom smiled genuinely again. Shepard was positively glowing now, and he felt a little better. She was still stinging from her husband's loss, and anything he could do to fix that felt good.

Then business broke in. "The ship is hailing us again," the communications tech reported.

"Alright let's try to answer it," Grissom grumbled. He moved to the big holographic display table in the center of the room, and the image displayed flashed from a readout of Einstein's systems to a blue representation of the alien speaking.

This alien was no turian. She had feminine features- curves, breasts- and the way she carried herself showed she was powerful. On her head, instead of hair, were a series of tentacles laying flat against her skull and tapering off to a point in the back.

Whatever language she was speaking, though, as graceful and flowing as it sounded, it was totally unintelligible. Grissom remembered the translator they'd gotten from that general and several dozen more recovered from the planet, and sent someone down to the tech lab to recover one for his use.

A few minutes of awkward silence later, and the crewman returned with the thing- it was an odd U-shaped piece of equipment he affixed to his wrist, just above his right hand. An orange sheath appeared around his arm, and he followed the steps to activate the translation program.

Scientists worked around the clock for a few weeks to get human languages installed onto it, but now he could understand the alien.

"Greetings," Grissom said, feeling like a fool immediately after saying it- who says 'greetings'?- "I am Admiral Jon Grissom, of the Earth Systems Alliance."

Now it was the alien's turn to sit in awkward silence while trying to figure out what he said.

"I," Grissom pointed at himself, "Jon Grissom."

The alien mimicked the motion. "I, Tevos."

Somehow Grissom got the idea that this was all very amusing to the alien- like playing fetch with a dog or something.

"What happened to the turians?" he asked slowly. She understood turian, he thought, because she brought one over to her, and he appeared standing beside her. A third alien briefly appeared behind Tevos and said something in the different language, before giving her one of the tools.

"Hello?" the translated response came as she fitted it to her hand.

"Hello," Grissom said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"We prepared some translation software with the help of prisoners taken on Oma Ker," Tevos said. "Do not worry, they are being well cared-for."

"That is good to hear," Grissom said, enunciating for some reason. The translation was pretty much perfect. Nagging him, however, was how he would break the news that their only prisoner had died in captivity.

"I represent the Citadel Council, the governing body of this region of space. The ship before you is called the _Destiny Ascension_, and has enough firepower to lay waste to your entire fleet if you try to attack us. We are intervening on your behalf to try to facilitate the safe entry of your species into the galactic community," Tevos said.

"What of the turians?" Grissom asked.

"They are members of the Citadel Council, and have requested repeatedly to pursue this war to its close. We have decided, however, not to allow that. Well, not to allow it unless you refuse to cooperate."

"We would certainly love to cooperate," Grissom said. The politicians would crucify him for saying that without going through the bureaucracy.

"Chiefly, the turians demand the return of General Desolas Arterius, and reparations be paid for the reconstruction of Oma Ker. Citing your orbital bombardments, they've plead the case that the colony's industrial infrastructure and housing have been severely damaged, as well as several thousand civilians killed," Tevos replied, ticking off the points in her head as she did.

"We will certainly consider reparations, but on the first point, we have sad news. General Arterius died late last month, after eating something that must not have worked with his system. He got violently ill and we couldn't bring him back," Grissom nearly whispered, afraid that massive ship would just start shooting.

The alien grimaced. "Turians' biology is based off of dextro amino acids. They can't eat anything produced by levo amino acid biology, without getting violently ill. We will talk to the turians, and tell them about this. You couldn't have known."

Grissom felt a lot better after hearing that.

"If we can get a guarantee of peace, we would welcome an ambassador from your species- what do you call yourselves?"

"We are humans," Grissom replied.

"We would welcome a human ambassador aboard the _Ascension_ to give us background on your species and lay the base for cooperation with the Citadel," Tevos said, smiling. "In return, we will provide you with the tools to become functioning members of Citadel space. Dossiers on the species that belong to the Citadel, specifications for omni-tools, the formula for omni-gel, and definitions on what most of those mean," she added, with a smile.

Grissom nodded. "I will transmit that information directly to our leadership."

Tevos nodded as the human's figure faded from the Communications room of the _Destiny Ascension_. It was always so much easier to talk to military types. They didn't care much for politics, generally, and that made them easy prey. Military types liked to think in terms of numbers- show up in the biggest ship you had, tell them how many guns are aboard, and let them think themselves into submission.

She turned away and left the darkened room, making for the CIC. A tail of asari commandos followed her, more as a manner of appearances than actual security work. If there was a safest place in the galaxy for the asari councilor, it would be aboard the asari-crewed and asari-built dreadnought.

Emerging onto the CIC, she found Matriarch Lidanya. "Prepare to receive a guest from this species. Transmit to them the atmospheric composition of the ship, make sure it's breathable for the humans. They'll send guards with their ambassador, let the security know they're allowed aboard, weapons and all."

"Yes, councilor," Lidanya replied.

* * *

**April 12, 2157**

**SSV ****_Albert Einstein_**

**Hannah Shepard**

Grissom had warned her to go on leave, but the baby came too soon. She'd delivered John Shepard, Jr., yesterday morning in the Einstein's medbay- one of them, at least.

He was an incredibly healthy baby, and was now cradled in her arms, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping soundly. A steady parade of well-wishers had come through over the past day.

John stirred slightly when the door opened, and saw a party of different figures come through the door. At the head was Admiral Grissom, followed closely by a blue alien she'd learned was asari, a reptilian looking one called salarian, and one she needed no help in identifying- a turian.

Grissom introduced her and John, and playing along she put on her best diplomat smile, subtly hugging John closer. All the while she stared coldly at the turian, who was content to stare daggers back at her.

"Lieutenant Shepard, I brought the Citadel Council to meet John," Grissom said, beaming at her. "Three of the most powerful people in the galaxy are here, Johnny."

Hannah grinned again and let the aliens take their turns looking at the baby, the asari councilor smiling for real, having had her own children in the past. The salarian one looked like her mind was somewhere else, and offered a quick grin before standing back and letting the turian councilor- the only male- stand there and flick his mandibles open in a quick symbol of dismissive political joy.

"Good to meet you Johnny," the turian said, in their peculiar flanging voice. The subharmonics in his voice were flat and betrayed nothing.

Hannah just glared. Grissom noticed and took the turian aside, and Hannah overheard mention of "husband" and "died" and "Oma Ker."

The turian returned and apologized, but this time his subharmonics did betray something, very faintly, and very briefly. Smugness.

Her loathing for turians was amplified in that moment, and she realized if she hugged Johnny any closer she'd probably reinsert him into her uterus. Consciously releasing the pressure on her newborn, she nodded at the turian, who stepped away and rejoined the other councilors.

The party left the room, and she found herself alone with the doctors and nurses again, the occasional nurse stopping by to coo at Johnny. Hannah's day had already been tainted by her first face-to-face meeting with a turian, though, and she found it nearly impossible to be happy.

* * *

**May 4, 2157**

**The Citadel**

**Ambassador Anita Goyle **

This space station was beyond words. She thought Arcturus was big, but Arcturus was nothing compared to this.

The human party had flown out here after the first rounds of negotiations had gone as well as they had. In lieu of reparations, which the Alliance couldn't pay due to the fact their currency wasn't integrated into the Citadel's economy yet, the Alliance was ludicrously cooperative.

Too cooperative, in this Ambassador's opinion. They hadn't given up any territory, but had signed the Treaty of Farixen, and had their dreadnoughts capped at four- the least of any Citadel race. On top of that, expansion into what they called the Skyllian Verge was being stopped, for the time being, as another member race lobbied successfully for the entire Verge to be labeled an "area of batarian interest." No races were willing to trade with the Alliance after what Wagner did at Oma Ker, since orbital bombardments of civilian areas- surprise!- turned out to be political faux pas.

She cursed the man for the thousandth time. He had made her job so much more difficult than it needed to be with his warmongering.

The reception she arrived at was much colder and almost certainly a formality. There she was introduced to the volus, elcor, batarian and hanar ambassadors, and gave a speech formally apologizing to the galactic community for such belligerent actions against a long-standing and respected member of the Council.

Her speech was received, although she wouldn't say it was received well. The assembled ambassadors and their staffs all seemed to want to be elsewhere.

Goyle was secretly happy that the most awkward function in her political life had ended as she was shown to her office on the Presidium, a small room she shared with the batarian ambassador. Whoever made that choice was clearly not thinking, because every ten minutes she caught the batarian ambassador staring at her. Goyle couldn't determine what the look was because of the second set of eyes, but she had a feeling that the batarian did not like her.

The most interesting moment of her first day as Human Ambassador happened later, as she made her way from her office to the Embassy Bar.

She was walking through one of the corridors after the reception area and felt a gruff hand take her shoulder.

She turned to face what she first thought was an actual dinosaur.

"Who are you? What are you?" she asked, not sure what to make of the behemoth standing before her.

"I am Urdnot Wrex, of the krogan," the monster growled.

"Krogan? I haven't heard of them," Goyle admitted.

"We're the Council's dirty little secret. Centuries ago they opened a mass relay and unleashed the rachni on the galaxy. The salarians uplifted us and sent us to die by the thousands to push the rachni back. Eventually we did, but they sterilized us for it. We've been slowly dying since then, and so the Council would rather not mention us if they can help it," Wrex said lowly.

"What can I do for you?" Goyle asked.

"There's nothing you could do in your position. But I sought you out to let you know that anyone who can put a hurting on the turians like that is a friend of mine, and a friend of Tuchanka's," the krogan grumbled, laughing as he finished. "We don't have an ambassador or anything, but keep in touch."

"Will do, Urdnot Wrex," she said quietly.

"Just call me Wrex," the krogan said, turning and walking away from the encounter.

Goyle made a mental note to forward a message home about these krogan, and to see if diplomatic channels could be opened with them.

* * *

**May 15, 2157**

**Tuchanka**

**Oleg Petrovsky**

The escape from Oma Ker had been a close call. The chaos that was the death of the Third Fleet allowed for the shuttle to jump to FTL and escape with the rest of the survivors, although the Illusive Man had seemed ready to just buy a new one instead of repairing the old one.

Now he, Ben, the scientist Eva, and the Illusive Man were en route to Tuchanka. What he saw from orbit showed a dusty desert ball of rubble, no lights were visible on the dark side that he could see.

"We're descending toward the coordinates Wrex gave us; apparently it's the home of his clan. We'll get some information there," Ben said from the cockpit.

As soon as it entered the atmosphere, their craft was buffeted by sand and high winds, throwing it in every direction as a gust hit them.

The coordinates pointed to a circular opening in the ground, one they descended into vertically. It opened up into some kind of chamber, and already krogan were assembling beneath the shuttle.

After touchdown, the door opened and revealed one of the 800-pound monsters standing directly in the doorway.

"Urdnot Wrex has spoken for you, and you're allowed to exit the ship. You'll be accompanied by a guard at all times," the krogan grumbled.

"Thank you," the Illusive Man said calmly, dropping out of the shuttle and onto the ground. The krogan stepped aside and the party advanced off the landing pad, down into a tunnel system, and out into a wider, rubble-strewn chamber.

Dozens of krogan lumbered about the chamber, moving through the sickly yellow light filtering down through the dust. It was a quiet place, despite the constant whistle of wind over the cracks in the ceiling. Despite the heat, Petrovsky found himself shivering somehow.

"The clan leader is up there," their guard said, motioning to a stone throne bathed in sunlight atop a relatively flat platform kept free of debris.

As they approached, a sudden round of cheers echoed through the hall as two creatures fought each other. The guard caught them looking and explained they were fighting varren.

"Halt, outlanders!" a voice called before they stepped up onto the platform. They saw the clan leader, a red-plated krogan, scowling at them.

The four of them stopped. Their guardian stepped up beside them and bellowed, "These outsiders are here at the bidding of Urdnot Wrex."

"Wrex? They may proceed, I suppose," the clan leader said, waving them forward. "What do you… aliens… want?"

"We want to see what the status of the krogan people are. We've gone to war with the turians once already and we want to learn from the last race to do it," Illusive Man said.

"Heh. The last race to go to war with Palaven? Look around you, human. This is what happens if you go to war with the turians," the Urdnot leader scoffed. "You pull their quad out of the fire and they stab you in your back."

"I assure you, I have no intention of working with turians," Illusive Man replied. "In fact, quite the opposite. You see, the turians are keeping humanity down. Their word against ours is a losing battle every day." _Not that the Alliance is helping at all, signing every piece of paper send their way across a tabletop._

"Their dreadnoughts against yours would be a losing battle, too, human," the krogan replied.

"All I know is in a few days you'll be paid a visit by the human ambassador. Your clan mate Wrex contacted her not too long ago, and we are here to investigate," Illusive Man explained. "An alliance between humanity and the krogan could be mutually beneficial."

"Thanks for the warning," the krogan said dismissively. "Anything else?"

"Nothing I can think of, thanks for your time."

The party turned and left the sunny platform, dropping back into the darkened cave. A mechanical rumble echoed across the cave, not seeming to come from any one place.

"What is that?" Petrovsky asked, reaching for his rifle.

"Sounds like a tomkah," their guard said, unslinging his massive shotgun.

"One of yours?" the Illusive Man asked.

"There's no way to tell," their guard growled in reply.

Petrovsky looked around and saw the krogan around the room also readying themselves. "We should leave."

"I think Oleg's right," Ben said, checking his rifle for jams and finding none.

The Illusive Man nodded and they picked up their pace toward the exit.

Across the chamber a huge six wheeled vehicle pulled in, blasting several guards with big guns mounted on top. It caught several guards by surprise, firing shots directly into them and killing them.

"Too late! Find cover!" Illusive Man yelled, running toward one of the thick concrete pillars that dotted the chamber. Their guard let out a fearsome roar and began firing madly in the direction of the invaders.

The vehicle dropped several krogan in yellow armor onto the field, and they spread out while their vehicle withdrew, allowing for another to pull in and drop off another squad of krogan. The fighting got fierce.

Petrovsky had fallen into a crater and stayed there, listening to the shots zip overhead and slam into the far wall, raining chips of rock down onto the ground.

"Run to your shuttle!" their guard shouted from below. "We'll cover you!"

He looked up and met the Illusive Man's glance. They were moving.

With a shout, he stood and fired at the yellow krogan with his assault rifle, until it began to beep and the barrel glowed red, and he sprinted toward the door they came in through. He threw himself against the wall and watched Eva and Ben get up from their cover closer to the throne.

The Illusive Man got through next, and he continued up the corridor toward the landing pad, pistol drawn. Briefly, Petrovsky wondered what good it would do against these hulking aliens.

He turned around and saw, in what felt like slow motion, the shots from one of the vehicles tracking along the wall toward him. He dove through the doorway as one hit the wall opposite him and threw him into the far side, knocking his wind out of him.

"Petrovsky!" Illusive Man yelled from up the hall. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" he coughed, guessing most of his ribs were broken.

He looked up and tried to find Ben and Eva. His first mistake was looking up, he realized. They were on the ground.

Eva's chest rose and fell in labored breaths, and Ben lay deadly still.

"Eva and Ben are hit!" Petrovsky yelled to the Illusive Man.

"Leave them!" the reply came, shouted up the hall. Petrovsky almost got into an argument over that right there, but he simply ignored the order and shakily rose to his feet, clutching at his side.

As soon as he elevated himself he knew Ben was a lost cause. The shot had taken him in the right shoulder, blowing half of his chest apart. Eva, on the other hand, had taken a shot to the hip, likely losing the ability to walk. Certainly her right leg was going to be amputated- it was hardly attached.

Petrovsky grabbed her outstretched hand and began to drag her to safety, oblivious to the shots tearing through space around him. It seemed like minutes, but only a few seconds later they were safe from the fire, and he collapsed against the wall. His consciousness seemed to be fading, but he fought it back.

"She's alive!" the Illusive Man said, arriving from his position up the hall.

"Where's Ben?" she choked out. A trickle of blood ran down her cheek from the corner of her mouth.

"You'll be alright," Petrovsky said, ignoring Eva's question completely.

She nodded roughly, the trickle growing more into a stream with each nod. It ran down and began to drip into her blond hair, turning it an ugly brown color.

"Let's move," the Illusive Man said. "If we stay here, we all could die. We've got first aid in the shuttle."

Petrovsky came around and stood up again. He moved to hoist Eva up off the ground, but saw she too had stopped breathing.

"It's too late," the Illusive Man said, balling his hands up into fists. "Damn these animals!"

There was an explosion that rocked the halls and rained dust onto Petrovsky and the Illusive Man. The fire began to slacken afterwards, and they risked retrieving Ben's body.

The two of them retreated to the shuttle, and loaded the bodies of their friends aboard. The Illusive Man took the controls and started them away from the planet.

Silence was all that followed liftoff. Petrovsky had never even seen the Illusive Man's temper flare up before, and he knew that losing Ben and Eva had hurt him bad.

"Mutually beneficial," the Illusive Man scoffed. "An alliance with these barbarians wouldn't benefit anyone."

Petrovsky remained silent.

"The Alliance wants to jump into bed with them. And they've all but given Earth to the turians. They've sold us out, Oleg," the Illusive Man said.

It made sense. "I see what you mean. Mankind needs a guardian, we can't depend on the Alliance anymore."

"You're exactly right," the Illusive Man said, regaining his composure with frightening speed. He looked at Petrovsky over his shoulder. "They need us."

* * *

_Author's Note: _

_Since I got 500 or so views, which seems pretty good to me for two days, I've come up with the idea that as long as this story is getting views, I'll try to put out a chapter per week- most likely on Fridays or Saturdays. Chapter 3 is what I'm going to call the first official new chapter since 1 and 2 were kind of right on top of each other (not that 3 isn't, just this one was written today and yesterday). Thanks for reading! Please review!_


	5. The Tuchanka Campaign Begins

**July 20, 2157**

**Tuchanka**

**Urdnot Wrex**

The word had reached him on the Citadel that Weyrloc Guld had ordered an attack on the human emissaries (if they had been that. The two who survived disappeared, according to the guard assigned to them). That enough was enough to endanger Tuchanka's one chance at redemption.

Worse was that his brother, Urdnot Wreav, was killed in the fighting. It wasn't bad because he was his brother, since he'd always been an annoying little pyjak fart, but because Clan Urdnot was vulnerable. Clan Urdnot was without a clan leader, and Wrex was en route to take up the throne.

His shuttle touched down and he strode purposefully passed the guards, who were themselves a little offended by the lack of ceremony they'd prepared for.

The recent battle had left new scars on the already scarred terrain. They blended in to the blackened and fragmented walls and floors, and the fresh bodies served only to keep the piles from getting too small. It was business as usual on Tuchanka.

Wrex found his way to the weathered stone throne, and ran a hand across it before falling into it heavily. It still stunk of death and war.

"Urdnot Wrex, our new clan leader…" a krogan began.

"Forget this formality shit," Wrex growled. "We've got work to do. And first, we burn Clan Weyrloc to the ground."

A week later, Clan Urdnot had withdrawn into their own borders. The implication to Weyrloc was clear- prepare for an attack. They didn't want their own nationals to get caught in the line of fire. It was reasonable, but telegraphed an attack from miles away.

Guld let out a bemused grunt. His tomkahs were already patrolling the only ways into his territory, and anything Urdnot did to advance by ground would be spotted easily.

A shudder ripped through the air in his ancient hospital headquarters, though, shaking his belief in that. His warriors could handle any threat.

"Weyrloc Guld," a voice boomed through the chambers. He left the room tentatively, putting up his barrier and grabbing his Claymore shotgun, popping it open.

"Who calls?" he roared back. A few of his men were jogging toward him with their own weapons drawn.

"Urdnot Wrex," the reply came, sending a shiver up Guld's quad. Wrex had single-handedly brought down a thresher maw during the Rite, and was a powerful battlemaster. This would be a good fight.

"Ah, Wrex, here to avenge your brother?" Guld taunted. "His death was igno…"

"Shut up," Wrex ordered, dropping to the ground with a half dozen red-clad krogan directly behind Guld. "I can't stand all this talk about heroic deaths and wars. It only leads to misery."

"You always were a little whelp," Guld growled, turning to face Wrex.

Wrex wasn't willing to engage in a dialogue though. He launched a warp that landed square in Guld's chest, and his infiltration team sprung into action. While Guld writhed before Wrex, the Urdnot warriors charged forward to hold off the Weyrloc warriors currently advancing upstairs towards the confrontation.

Guld straightened up after a moment, hurting. "You were a fool to come here Wrex, how do you propose to escape?"

"I have a plan," Wrex assured Guld. There was an explosion of shotgun reports as the two krogan teams came into contact.

With a shout, Wrex leveled his own Claymore on Guld and fired a shot into his barriers, depleting them completely, and sending Guld scurrying for cover. Wrex charged his biotics and advanced, his arms glowing purple.

A flurry of motion in his periphery alerted Wrex that a varren had clawed through the wreckage and was charging him, slobbering all over the floor as it snarled at him. He turned and blew it apart with a single shot from the shotgun, but when he turned back he felt a warp hit him in the gut, causing him to double over as pain rippled through his body.

He fought through it, though, and looked up to see Guld charging him. Gathering what concentration he had left, Wrex threw Guld across the floor and into a column, which cracked and broke apart from the impact of the half-ton krogan.

The warp faded, and Wrex straightened up and advanced on his quarry. He dropped his shotgun and lunged at Guld, grabbing him by the chest plate and slamming him into the column again, further shattering it.

Guld grunted as he fell back to the ground, and he swept Wrex's feet out from under him, watching the massive krogan fall to the ground, causing dust to descend from the ceiling. A loud metallic thud signified something heavy landing nearby- Guld looked up into the faces of a squad of Alliance Marines rappelling from the breach in the ceiling and joining the fray.

Wrex was getting to his feet when Guld looked back to him. "You had to get help from these newcomers? Pathetic!"

Wrex laughed. Guld didn't know! "These are the aliens that put a hurting on the turians. They're worthy allies, if ever there were any!" He fired a weaker throw at Guld, merely pushing him against the railing.

"Already tired, old man?" Guld scoffed, advancing on Wrex again. The older krogan grabbed a piece of rebar and swung it at Guld, smashing his helmet in and knocking it off, where it fell three stories to the floor of the hospital.

"That helmet was an heirloom!" Guld shouted. "You dishonor my entire clan!"

"Go get it!" Wrex roared, and he unleashed a throw that hurled Guld off of his feet and through the column, and he fell the three stories. The resulting smash of armor and flesh hitting the ground shook the building, and drew the attention of all the fighting krogan.

"Weyrloc warriors, I'm giving you one final chance to join with the new krogan. Fight and die against the turians' conquerors, or join Clan Urdnot in the Kelphic Valley. Reconstruction begins there!" Wrex shouted. His voice carried through the crumbling building. Several warriors stepped forward, still others stood their ground. Seeing their comrades step forward, though, convinced most of the krogan present to join him.

Those that refused to join were silenced, and dissent within the recently-dissolved Clan Weyrloc fell to zero.

An Alliance advisor to Wrex's forces whistled as he looked down at the shattered body of Weyrloc Guld. "You know how to get the job done," he said quietly.

"Krogan politics are a little simpler than yours," Wrex explained. "As it is, our negotiations are done with shotguns, and our elections with death matches. I intend to change all of that." His extensive studies into krogan history- namely his experiencing most of it- were invaluable. On top of having slain a maw during the Rite, he was intelligent and a traveled krogan, two things generally not associated with his species.

The human nodded. "Sometimes I wish ours were more like that."

"Nah, you don't. Or your home world would probably look like this pile of rocks," Wrex said after a moment.

"What now?" the human asked.

"We unite the rest of the clans. If they all can be united under one banner, we can finally rebuild," Wrex said. "Except for one thing."

"What is that?" the human asked earnestly.

"The genophage. We have to find a way to cure it."

* * *

On the Citadel, in one of the many bureaucracies on the station that helped to run the galaxy, an asari was at work monitoring transmissions from the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission in the Krogan Demilitarized Zone.

A coworker, another asari approached. "How are you today, Larese?" she asked.

Larese looked up from the console. "I'm well, thank you, how are you?"

"Pretty good," the second asari said. Larese recalled her name to be Ashaya Thevor.

"So I finally got to see the Consort last night," Ashaya beamed.

"How was it?" Larese asked excitedly. Ashaya had been talking about this meeting for weeks now, since she scheduled the appointment. To be honest, it had gotten annoying, but Larese was patient. She'd never really felt the urge to meet with the Consort. She didn't have to _pay_ to get laid.

"Beyond words," Ashaya said wistfully. Her eyes got distant as she recalled the meeting.

Larese looked up and tilted her head to the side. "Beyond words?" she giggled.

"She has a way of doing things that I cannot describe," Ashaya gushed. Larese fought the urge to burst out laughing. This was so melodramatic.

Larese flicked her eyes down at the console briefly and saw "1 New Alert" flashing across the bottom of the screen.

"Hold on, Ash," Larese said, opening the message.

_CDEM garrison/Arlakh System/Tuchanka Orbit_

_Detected human Alliance vessels in orbit around Tuchanka. Forces deployed to the surface, in conjunction with a flurry of activity around the Kephic Valley. _

_CDEM Cmdr. Erunthos Reporting_

Larese's eyes widened. This is news. "Ash, go get Captain Visus, now. Something's happening in the DMZ."

Ashaya cocked her head to the side in confusion, but she turned and ran up the hall to their supervisor's office. In a moment she was back with the turian, the two of them standing in the doorway.

"Look at this," she said, beckoning to the monitor. Visus came around the desk and read it over her shoulder. In all of her 443 years, she'd never met a slimy turian. But Visus struck her as dirty, for some reason.

"Those primitives are making a move on the krogan? They must be itching to die," Visus grumbled. "Good work; I'll go report to the Council."

Larese looked at Ashaya and shrugged. _That was weird_, they seemed to agree. "So what was the deal with the Consort?" Larese began again, after they'd been interrupted.

* * *

"Ambassador, could you report to the Council chambers?" the asari secretary in the Citadel Tower said over her omni tool.

Anita sighed. She'd guessed this would happen, although the Citadel had caught on to their presence in the Krogan DMZ way faster than she'd anticipated.

She pushed away from her desk, catching a suspicious glance from the batarian ambassador- she'd learned his name was Bahz'alk Provesh- as she locked her terminal down and left the room.

The walk to the Citadel Tower was always a pleasant one. The foliage was a little odd- purple trees weren't something she was used to- but it was clean and safe, unlike most metropolises on Earth.

Unfortunately, the Tower itself had less pleasant associations for Ambassador Goyle. She'd been called up here multiple times, each time to get berated by one Councilor or another. It got old, even after only two months on the job.

The elevator came to a stop at the top of the tower, and Anita stepped out of it into the darker room. Overhead, a series of trees that reminded her of birch trees arched over and created a tunnel of foliage. They were flawlessly maintained, for sure.

She rounded the fountains and climbed the steps towards the Council chambers, noticing they were all already present. A crowd composed primarily of turians had assembled to watch the human ambassador get yelled at again on the balconies on either side. _Spiteful little bastards_, she thought.

"Ambassador Goyle," Tevos said, in that singsong voice she seemed to have perfected. The other two nodded. Veskian was again staring daggers at her, and the salarian, Januntha, stared in silence. She appeared to be more distant than most salarians. Must be the age- she was 42, which was pretty long lived for salarians.

"Good afternoon, Councilors," Goyle said, bowing.

"Ambassador, for background, the Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission was started after the Krogan Rebellions to ensure that the krogan didn't rearm after their defeat in the war. The Citadel maintains outposts in the Krogan DMZ to this day, and two days ago some interesting reports came in," Tevos stated slowly and flatly.

"The CDEM garrison in the Arlakh system has detected Alliance vessels in orbit around Tuchanka," Veskian interjected. "What is the Alliance doing on Tuchanka?"

Anita was prepared for this, and was going to employ the ages-old human political tactic that had frustrated her predecessors for millennia: the filibuster.

"As you all well know, the Citadel doesn't have jurisdiction over human activities and human space. In fact, the charter that formed the Citadel Council doesn't give you the ability to order the Alliance to do one thing or the other, as we are only a client race and not a member of the Council itself. You could order us around about as easily as you could order Ambassador Provesh to have the batarian fleet invade Earth. It's just not in the mechanics of…"

She noticed the exasperated looks of Veskian and Januntha, and tried not to smile. Clearly they never watched an Alliance parliament session. Filibustering was apparently a purely human invention, and they didn't know how to react. She'd have to break out the phone book next… man, she loved sticking it to these pricks.

* * *

"I don't know how much longer I can stall. Veskian almost pulled a gun from a C-Sec guard to shoot me today. They don't like being told to wait," Goyle reported over the vidcom.

"They didn't get an answer?" Prime Minister Cole asked.

"No, sir," Anita answered.

"Good work Ambassador," Cole replied. The connection was cut at that. He rubbed at his temples and turned to the assembled military officials.

"We've got perhaps one day before the Council gets wind of the Tuchanka operation. Report," he said.

"The krogan have no navy to speak of. They were disarmed, thus, our ships are the only non-Council ships in the system. They've already deployed the advisors and scientific staff volunteers and are leaving the system now," Admiral Grissom reported, his words sharp and clear.

Cole nodded. He shifted his gaze to General Williams, of the Alliance Marines. "And how do combat operations go on the surface?"

"Our advisors have not engaged in active combat. They've advised the krogan on peacekeeping activities only as of yet. There are currently 2,000 deployed in the valley the clans are coming together around, and another 10,000 deployed at various sites across the planet where there are high concentrations of krogan," Williams stated.

Cole turned again to a civilian- one of the only other civilians in the room- and asked, "And our scientific mission- how are the volunteers faring?"

"Prime Minister, the science teams are engaged in identifying the nature of the genophage and its effect on the krogan. The medical records on Tuchanka are almost nonexistent, and are certainly not open to outsiders, but according to what we've been told by Urdnot Wrex, the plague forces 999 out of 1000 births to be stillbirths. Our field data refutes that, however, as it would appear the rate is closer to 960 out of 1000. While the rate is still unacceptable, it would follow then that the severity of the plague was hyperbole, though not by much, or that the plague is wearing off. If it is the latter we can find out why, we can try to synthesize some kind of accelerator of the process and we can get to work on curing it. The other teams are engaged with soil revitalization efforts and refoliating the planet. Flora from Earth is being planted on soil scrubbed of radiation, and botanists are at work trying to grow crops like corn, soy, and wheat in limited experiments on the surface," the chief scientist said. Cole didn't know his name, and didn't bother to ask. He'd forget.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Cole announced. "Admiral Grissom, get your ships out of the system as quick as you can. We can try to spin it as a diplomatic mission if we can keep the advisors hidden. General Williams, that's you- keep them under the radar."

"Yes sir," the two officers acknowledged in unison.

Grissom and Williams left, the scientist trailing behind them. Cole leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples again. Managing this shitstorm would be an interesting exercise of his political chops.

* * *

**September 27, 2157**

**Tuchanka**

**Colonel John Vance **

The report by General Williams a few months back was a little more flowery than reality. Of the 12,000 advisors landed on Tuchanka, 600 had been killed by angry krogan, and 11,400 were engaged in active combat almost constantly. The planet was a horrific morass of poisonous vegetation, poisonous animals, and vicious locals. Aside from the Urdnot krogan, no one wanted the help, and it was a battle for every clan converted to Wrex's rule.

Today, the 212th Marine Battalion was being deployed alongside a few hundred Urdnot warriors to turn Clan Thax. It was a smaller clan, far smaller than Urdnot, but still dangerous. A couple of men in the battalion thought this was a joke deployment at first, and now they were a couple of men down.

Colonel Vance's battalion HQ was situated under what appeared to be an ancient overpass just beyond the Thax pickets.

"Our scouts report little between us and the Thax compound," his Urdnot counterpart, Roggem, said. The two of them had formed a good partnership, Roggem by demonstration of his cunning, and Vance by demonstrating he could keep men and krogan a disciplined fighting force.

"When was the last time we encountered a clan this poorly guarded?" Vance asked. Roggem knew the question was loaded.

"Probably when we took on Gatatog," Roggem replied.

"That was a trap, too, wasn't it?" Vance asked, grinning a little. He picked up his helmet and placed it on his head, and Roggem did the same. "Order the men forward, cautiously."

Roggem relayed the order to his troops, and the pair left the impromptu HQ and caught up with their advancing frontline. Between the two of them they had about 1,200 soldiers (Vance refused to call them warriors. They weren't damned barbarians anymore), versus the 600-800 Thax warriors present.

The dust swirled around the rubble and created a constant ticking sound as it blew into his helmet. The battlefield was silent, for now. A few of the red-armored Urdnot soldiers charged into the opening and came under immediate fire from concealed Thax positions in the wall of rubble. The Urdnot soldiers turned and ran back to their position, their mission completed.

Vance's "advisors" had already lined up shots with their ML-77 missile launchers and loosed a volley of the rockets that smashed into the now-exposed positions. Several blue-clad krogan fell from the debris, their bodies shattered by the explosions but held together by the armored suits.

The maneuver was repeated around the huge wall of rubble multiple times for about an hour until he was satisfied Thax would no longer expose themselves as they saw his men approaching.

Vance turned and waved at the men behind him. _Two of you, breach, return_, he signaled. Two Marines sprung into action and sprinted toward the wall. Between them they carried a mass effect bomb that would blow that wall and anything sitting in it to the next system over.

The two Marines ran back, their flat desert camouflaged armor catching the sun but not reflecting it.

"Everyone withdraw," Vance ordered, and he and Roggem returned to their HQ a few hundred meters away.

"Are you ready?" Roggem asked, pounding his fist into his hand.

"Ready when you are," Vance said. "Detonation in 3, 2, 1…"

A huge blue ball of fire erupted, vaporizing the wall within the mass effect field. The krogan within were atomized as well, and there was now a huge breach into their encampment.

"All troops, return to prior positions. Don't let any non-Urdnot krogan leave the area, avoid killing women and do not kill children under any circumstances," Vance said unnecessarily. Stories abound about a soldier in the 260th who accidentally shot a small krogan. He'd been found with a piece of rebar rammed through his head suspending him above a pit of war varren- Urdnot war varren. The worst part of that was according to the medics who got the half of the body down- he'd been alive when the varren ate his legs. His official cause of death was blood loss.

"Prepare your shock teams, Roggem. We'll be in the breach right behind you," Vance said, pounding on the krogan's shoulder pads.

"With pleasure," Roggem growled, and turned to issue the order to his subordinates. "Into the hole, men!"

Vance watched Roggem charge off at the head of a column of about three hundred krogan, who came out from behind rubble and seemed to appear from nowhere. The ground rumbled as they ran, and he and his men were simultaneously impressed and horrified.

Inside of the fortress, Roggem lead the charge, barreling right through a shell shocked krogan attempting to find his arms in the aftermath of the explosion. Apparently he'd been climbing up as a replacement, but his arms were sheared off by the warp bomb. Roggem put him out of his misery with his shotgun.

His men were equipped with Claymores and Revenants, firing around the compound, killing a few dozen warriors before they could react. A series of explosions rocked the wall and threw their defense into complete disarray.

Roggem threw himself bodily into an opposing krogan, firing a round directly into his gut, spraying blood across his armor. It was red, already, but the blood gave it a sheen you couldn't accomplish with paint. He grinned as the krogan beneath him let out his death rattle.

"Kill all who resist!" Roggem ordered, and while about two hundred Thax krogan threw down their weapons, the remaining three hundred or so resisted. The surrendering krogan were herded back to the Kelphic valley, under guard by the Alliance detachment.

Thax had been brought down after only a few hours of fighting. One more clan down, their women and children moving towards the safe area Wrex was establishing. Even so, less than a tenth of the planet was secured.

* * *

**October 3, 2157**

**The Citadel**

**Prime Minister Jeremy Cole **

The funny thing about the bind they were in- the Citadel couldn't put sanctions on the Alliance. _Nobody is trading with us, anyways_, the PM thought.

"We have before us the Systems Alliance Prime Minister, fresh out of a meeting with the Citadel Council," an asari reporter said, walking along in front of Cole with a floating video camera. "What can you tell us about the meeting?"

Cole stopped. "I can't tell you much about it, there were a lot of dealings in classified information. What I can say is that diplomatic missions to the krogan homeworld are underway, and that is the nature of the report from two months ago. I cannot stress enough that we are _not_ rearming the krogan."

"Reports from the ground state the Alliance soldiers are engaged in combat in areas surrounding the Kelphic valley, a place traditionally associated with the last bastion of krogan civility. Is there a threat against the krogan in the area the Alliance is trying to keep secret?" the reporter asked.

Cole cocked an eyebrow and said, "I've met the leader of the Urdnot clan, Wrex, and he is the most imposing thing I've ever seen. There isn't a creature in this galaxy or outside of it, for that matter, which can threaten the krogan."

"But the Alliance is not going to be forthcoming with its goals in the Krogan DMZ?"

"We will, in time. For now, revealing our objectives on Tuchanka would jeopardize the security of Alliance soldiers and scientists on the ground. Suffice it to say, we are cooperating as best we can with the Council."

"Prime Minister, another question, if I may?" a human reporter broke in. Her floating camera asserted itself in front of the asari's, much to the asari's displeasure.

"Go ahead," Cole said, happy to be talking to someone sympathetic. He hoped.

"The Alliance selflessly set aside their own interests earlier in the year when first contact was made and after the tragic misunderstanding at Relay 314. Is the Council's insertion into Alliance affairs after all they've sacrificed a fair thing to do, in your view?"

Cole thought for a moment. "I understand the concerns of the Council, I really do. They are afraid of a second Krogan Rebellion, which is reasonable. The real trouble comes when they try to dictate our internal affairs and our relations with other sovereign entities. It's a violation of democratic principles when our sovereignty is violated like that, and as a people our responsibility is to reject that unwelcome interference. However, we have decided in the Parliament that we will attempt to cooperate without compromising our interests or the interests of the krogan in the Krogan Demilitarized Zone."

"Thank you, Prime Minister Cole," the woman said, turning to do her sign off on the other side of the Citadel Tower. There was a sea of media types between him and the exit, unfortunately. This would be a long walk.

He pressed on until the media relented and he and the guard detachment of C-Sec and Alliance military personnel boarded the elevator and took it down to the floor.

* * *

"Blatant lies!" Veskian shouted once the Council was out of the media spotlight and in their soundproofed chambers.

"He's good," Tevos allowed. He had done well as far as she could tell. These humans were political animals- their Ambassador was a master of evasion and their Prime Minister had a talent for making humankind the benefactor of any media attention at all.

"STG has new information," Januntha announced, feeling vindicated.

Veskian and Tevos gathered around the aging salarian.

"Human soldiers are acting as police while the Urdnot clan kills or captures the other clans. It seems the krogan are attempting to unify," she said. Her advanced age actually made her speak at the same speed as other races, Tevos thought.

"They won't. No clan is powerful enough to do that," Veskian scoffed, and in his own mind he knew it to be right. Krogan were animals that were untamable.

"No clan, sure. But the entire Systems Alliance could affect change on that planet. Without having to dedicate resources to policing, the full might of Urdnot can be turned on taking over the other clans," Januntha countered, and Tevos nodded.

"We could have a major problem on our hands if the krogan unify. They're angry and they're hurt. We have to beat the Alliance to them," Tevos said.

The turian nodded.

"What do the krogan want, more than anything else?" Tevos asked rhetorically.

"No," Januntha snapped. "Absolutely not."

"I agree with Januntha," Veskian said. "If we cure the genophage, there will be no telling what they will do."

"Not a cure, but we can send a very public team of scientists in and reduce the efficiency of the genophage. Maybe only two thirds as effective, or half as effective. All that needs to happen is they need to be convinced it's been cured," Tevos put forward.

"And when only half their children are stillborn, they'll buy that it's cured? Krogan aren't too smart, but they're smart enough to realize if they've been duped. That Wrex one especially," Veskian countered.

Tevos thought on it for a moment. When you dealt with krogan, you had a lot of variables going into the equation, and one of them almost always was violence. They had violent tempers, were a violent culture, and had bloodlust running through their veins. That the Alliance trusted them was worrisome. She feared the krogan might be playing them.

Unlike her compatriots, Tevos had the luxury of thinking long term. Compared to her, the turian would probably make 150 at the best, the salarian could die any day now, but she had nearly four hundred years left. Time was a luxury she had.

* * *

**December 31 2157**

**Tuchanka**

**Colonel John Vance**

The 212th was on leave, separate from Roggem's team, now advancing south and east, much slower than normal. Progress was totally bogged down.

For now, though, the surviving members of the 212 were in the Tuchanka Green Zone. The TGZ was the Kelphic Valley and about thirty kilometers outside of it in every direction. The only people allowed to be armed in the TGZ were on-duty Alliance peacekeepers.

Vance sat in a makeshift bar on Fort Johnson, the Alliance base on the western half of the TGZ. Crews had been at it for months to clear the rubble out of the base, and the heavy lifters and bulldozers were still awaiting transport back to Earth or one of the colonies, their job complete. Fort Johnson was probably the cleanest area on this forsaken ball of radiation.

"Last call!" the bartender shouted. A couple of the more inebriated soldiers groaned, and pushed away from the bar.

He hadn't really drunk much tonight, just stayed in here to avoid people. For some reason, the bar was a good place for that. He stood up and paid his tab and walked out into the warm night air. A few knots of Marines were watching their omni tools, waiting for the countdown to the New Year. Otherwise, the base was deserted.

Except outside of the wall, he saw a black shape atop some of the moved rubble. _What the hell is that_?

Whatever it was, it didn't move, it just kept scanning the base. The shape was organic and clearly not part of the rubble, but it was too small to be a krogan and too slim to be a varren.

Acting cool, and walking parallel to the wall the thing was looking over, Vance found an exit a few hundred meters up the wall.

"Sir, I can't let you through after hours," the gate guard said, stepping in front of him.

"You have to," Vance said. "There's something out there looking in over the walls."

The guard cocked an eyebrow. "What did the 'thing' look like?"

"It was small, not a krogan, in other words. I'm going to go and find it," he said, moving to step around the guard.

The guard matched his move, though. "Sir, it's Tuchanka at night. Is it worth it?"

"If they're about to attack us, it is," Vance said, aware of the massive leap from something watching them to something attacking them. Although it is Tuchanka, and that isn't as large of a logical leap here.

"Sir, if you don't come back in ten minutes, I'm going out after you," the guard said, stepping out of the way.

"Thanks," Vance said. He ran through the gate and began to angle through the rubble toward his target, moving slow and quiet. The pile of rubble the target was using was pretty easy to scale, from a distance. Once Vance reached the base, he saw the thing was still there, a pair of binoculars raised to its face.

The base erupted into a countdown at this moment, with dozens of Marines shouting "Ten!"

Vance ran up the last three steps and threw himself onto the alien, knocking its binoculars away and pinning it to the ground

"Nine!"

The alien resisted mightily, freeing its right hand and punching him in the side of the head, hard, repeatedly.

"Eight!"

Vance drove a fist into the alien's chest, hearing a bone crack- he couldn't tell if it was his or the alien's.

"Seven!"

They rolled a little, and Vance caught the silhouette of the alien- it was a salarian. He punched it again in the shoulder this time, trying to drive his fist through it.

"Six!"

The salarian wheezed and finished rolling on top of Vance, raising his arm to piston down into Vance's face several times. Vance coughed a couple of times.

"Five!"

He kicked up with his right leg and threw them both off-balance, and Vance managed to get out from under the salarian.

"Four!"

The alien went for a gun, but Vance grabbed a loose piece of rebar and swung it at the raising pistol, knocking the weapon away and breaking the salarian's arm.

"Three!"

The salarian, now crippled, launched an incinerate with his good arm. Vance dodged to the right and lost his balance, falling a few steps down. The alien had no means of escape, though, between the twenty meter drop on one side and Vance on the other. It launched another incinerate.

"Two!"

Vance sidestepped this incinerate, and jumped back up to the top of the rubble pile. The salarian meekly raised its good hand. "I surrender."

"One! Happy New Year!" the crowd shouted, firing flares into the air in lieu of fireworks. The lights hung in the air, lighting the whole base up.

"Come with me," Vance said, grabbing the salarian by the shoulder. He led the crippled alien back through the gate and nodded to the shocked gate guard. "His equipment is on a pile of rubble overlooking the south gate, recover it for me."

They moved through the base toward the brig, where Vance deposited his guest after posting two guards on the cell and confiscating its omni tool and any other weapons on its person.

He went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His face under his nose was covered with blood, some crimson, some an odd green color. He sloshed water all over it and washed the worst of the blood off. There was green blood matting his short black hair, which he did all he could to wash out.

After a few minutes Vance exited the bathroom. He didn't look as good as new, but he looked a hell of a lot better than when he went in. Checking on his prisoner, he made his way to the base CO's building.

The structure was a two story prefabricated structure, like most he'd seen made to furnish the colonies it was furnished lightly and built for efficiency rather than comfort.

"Colonel, can I help you?" the secretary, a lieutenant, asked.

"Yes, is General Williams on base?"

"He's right upstairs, Colonel, but has asked not to be disturbed."

"This is urgent. It requires his immediate attention," Vance said, his tone earnest, something the secretary caught, by her body language's reaction. Her eyes narrowed and she must have made out the ghost of the blood he'd tried to wash off of his face.

"Head right through there and up the stairs. Give me a minute to tell him you're coming," she said, pointing through the only door in the room that didn't lead back outside.

Vance nodded a thank you and walked through the door, finding another that lead outside to some stairs which put him upstairs.

The door opened and he looked into the face of General Williams. His face was marred by a scar running down the right side, but it gave him the appropriate 'grizzled veteran' looks. Vance snapped to attention and saluted.

Williams returned the salute in kind, "Good evening Colonel. I heard you had something urgent for me?"

"Yes, sir," Vance responded.

"What is it?" Williams asked.

"Sir, I caught and detained a salarian prowling around our perimeter," Vance reported.

Williams' eyes widened. "A salarian, like the lizard people?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take me to him," Williams ordered, and the two of them left his building and walked across Fort Johnson to the brig.

Inside, the two guards snapped to attention as they approached. The salarian was still inside, pacing back and forth.

Williams drew himself up and said, "Salarian, what are you doing here?"

"I'm getting beaten and imprisoned by the Alliance," the alien shot back.

"Why were you spying on us?" Williams asked.

"I wasn't spying on you, I was observing your rituals for the new year."

At that moment, his timing perfect, the gate guard came in with the binoculars and several other pieces of equipment the salarian had deployed. "I've found all that I could in the dark, sir," he reported to Vance.

"Thank you," Vance said. He nodded to the interrogation happening within. "Dismissed."

The guard saluted and ran back to his post. Vance carried the pistol, the weird binoculars and what looked like a listening device into the room.

"General, our guards found these items at the salarian's post on top of the hill. It looks like a military-grade listening device and binoculars," Vance reported, showing the two devices to Williams. He then showed him the last device found- the salarian's pistol.

"And there is the pistol he drew. I've never seen anything like it," Vance said, holding it out for the General to see.

"That is an interesting piece of tech," Williams agreed.

"I'm not allowed to defend myself? On Tuchanka?" the salarian asked.

"You can't draw a weapon on one of my men," Williams growled.

"I didn't know what was attacking me," the salarian replied.

"So you traveled out to Tuchanka, one of the biggest shitholes in the galaxy, to watch some drunk Marines count from ten to one. Forgive me if I don't buy that story," Williams said after a moment. "A civilian traveled out here."

"That is what I expect you to believe," the salarian said. "Because it is what happened."

"What's your name?" Williams asked.

"Laenet," the salarian replied. He didn't let on that that was a code word for the STG- if a communiqué from the system was intercepted mentioning Laenet, he'd been captured, and his mission was complete.

"Colonel, get my secretary to send a message back to Alliance Command, that we've caught a salarian prowling around our base with spying equipment. Mark it top secret, highest security clearance only."

Vance saluted and left the room, jogging back to the CO. He relayed the order and returned to his bunk, collapsing heavily down onto it. He fell asleep surprisingly fast.

* * *

At the STG listening post established out in the wastes, the message sent to Alliance Command was intercepted. Laenet had been captured- the diplomatic incident was now going to happen. They sent a message back to Sur'Kesh with the message and the information, and the STG detachment began packing up and heading to their shuttle.


	6. Ignominy

**January 4 2158**

**The Citadel**

**Councilor Januntha**

The STG had come through, as expected. A Salarian Union civilian was now in Alliance custody, and as a bonus had been beaten savagely by one of their soldiers.

Januntha hadn't been sent to be the salarian Councilor for nothing. If any of her political allies or enemies had to use a single word to describe her, it would be shrewd. She turned on friends and befriended enemies if it meant Sur'Kesh would come out on top.

Consequentially, neither Veskian nor Tevos trusted her as far as they could throw her. When she reported to the two of them that a salarian civilian had been taken prisoner mere days after the Wrex coalition had bogged down roughly at the equator, it seemed too coincidental.

The other Councilors suspected STG had been behind several delaying tactics ever since it was reported some mercenaries had held around vital clan outposts and delayed the human-krogan advance to allow for the warriors to regroup further south.

No mercenaries had been killed, and they fought smart- two things that signified that it wasn't krogan who'd done the holding actions. Coupled with this…

"Councilor, we need you to come clean about the actions on Tuchanka," Tevos purred. Januntha recognized that voice, she'd heard it dozens of times in the past year alone.

It made sense to come clean. If she didn't, they'd find out eventually. Probably send a Spectre to investigate. Everyone in the room knew if the Spectres got involved the situation would escalate, and nobody wanted that.

Januntha sighed. "STG is working against the humans in limited capacity."

"What capacity?" Veskian pressed.

"It's hard to state with the lack of krogan infrastructure. 'This unit held this pass' or 'this unit blew up this bridge' doesn't apply here. Fourth and Fifth Infiltration Regiments have been deployed to obstruct human-krogan advance along equatorial areas, and unfortunately ground commanders have deemed direct conflict necessary in multiple cases," Januntha explained. "An operative was planted outside of their base to facilitate a diplomatic incident to drive the humans off of Tuchanka."

"You want to line the Salarian Union up against the Alliance?" Tevos asked.

"Not militarily. Politically. The Union has more pull on the Citadel and more allies in galactic politics, in a political battle we will win. We can't have the humans poking around on Tuchanka, and we especially can't see a resurgent krogan. Sur'Kesh would be their primary target if they ever began to have a society," she argued.

"I don't think that was a good idea," Veskian offered, slowly. "How did you intend to play the prisoner thing?"

"We're going to demand his return and reparations be paid for his rough treatment. When the humans say no, we'll send an extraction team in for our citizen, which is justifiable to the community at large."

"And if they say yes?" Tevos objected.

"Then we go with our backup plan," Januntha said.

"What is that?" Veskian asked, intrigued. Salarians amused him- this was probably their _first_ backup plan. There were dozens, he knew.

"We escalate it into a krogan civil war. We'll fund and arm a counter-coalition in the south that will permanently stall the advance of the Wrex coalition," Januntha said quickly. Veskian nodded approval, and Tevos remained silent.

* * *

Prime Minister Cole was back on Arcturus Station after his extended stay on the Citadel. He returned to a desk with about a thousand messages from MPs regarding the Citadel and the Tuchanka operation.

Most importantly, though, was the notice on top of the pile- Alliance Security Memo 163. It had been forwarded to his recently-promoted chief of military operations, Admiral Jon Grissom. Cole sat down and opened it, ignoring the VI telling him he had 1,251 messages requiring responses.

_Alliance Security Memo 163_

_Attn: Prime Minister Jeremy Cole_

_Regarding the operations on Tuchanka, it is the opinion of the Chiefs of Staff of the separate military branches that an escalation of troops is required to further advance the goals of OPERATION: UNION. The current stated troop level of 12000 is insufficient to assist krogan teams in planet-wide operations, and General Williams requests an additional 60000 troops to launch a major series of drives south of the equator. The Chiefs of Staff agree with this estimation and support the deployment. _

_Signed: Admiral Jon Grissom, Chief of Military Operations_

Cole read it a few more times. A five-time increase in Alliance personnel on the ground was insane. Did they have the troops to do that and keep the colonies protected? Were the krogan worth it?

"Send Admiral Grissom up," Cole told his VI. It beeped acknowledgement and the message was away.

While he waited, he read through a few messages. About twenty in, he got impatient. _If you want to know about the Citadel, go there_! Why besiege his office with messages about it?

The door opened, and Admiral Grissom stepped in. "Prime Minister?"

"Admiral, please, sit down," Cole said, sitting down himself as Grissom did.

"What did you need, Prime Minister?" Grissom asked.

"I'm looking for a little more input on ASM-163," Cole said.

"What kind of input are you looking for?" Grissom pressed.

"Do we need sixty thousand troops deployed? We could play twelve off as advisors, but seventy-two will clearly be a full deployment of Alliance forces. The colonies will be exposed…"

"The Chiefs and I have talked about that at length. The threat to our colonies is limited. Our nearest neighbor in the Verge is the Batarian Hegemony, and they're pretty placated by the Council decree that they can have what's left in the Verge. The probability of a batarian attack is pretty low, since it'd be a violation of the peace and they'd likely get booted from the Citadel for starting a war," Grissom elaborated, hiding the fact that the batarians would probably never be satisfied. The Council gave them a foot, and they will try to take a mile… eventually.

"Are sixty thousand more necessary though, Jon?"

"Yes, since they're counting on more organized krogan resistance. Some more mercenaries have delayed our advances just the other day. The south krogan are uniting to oppose Wrex. There's going to have to be a serious deployment of our troops to counter that. I've seen what krogan can do, it's terrifying. They're unstoppable when they're motivated," Grissom said. He'd watched several operations take place from orbit over live video links, and krogan could take- and deal- massive amounts of damage without batting an eye.

"What do you propose I tell Ambassador Goyle to tell the Council? We won't be able to keep a deployment of that size secret. The whole galaxy will know both that we're actively helping the krogan unite and we're defenseless in the Verge."

"We won't be defenseless in the Verge. There will be the 10th, 2nd, 7th, and 4th Frontier Divisions ready to deploy to any problem areas in force at a moment's notice," Grissom countered. "That's not to mention that the Navy won't be deploying in force to Tuchanka, just the ground forces."

"How many troops is that?" Cole pressed.

"Those four divisions total roughly forty-eight thousand troops," Grissom reported after a moment. There were too many numbers floating around these days.

"Forty-eight thousand troops to defend the entire Skyllian Verge? If two planets were attacked at once, we'd be forced to choose which to defend. That isn't acceptable," Cole argued.

"Would one hundred twenty thousand troops make a difference in defending so many planets? If we get attack across a broad front, we can't defend against it anyway, not with the loss of so many ships on Oma Ker," Grissom countered. Not for the first time he found himself thinking, _Damn you Wagner_.

Cole thought for a moment. He didn't want to leave their holdings in the Verge open to attack from the batarians, and he didn't buy into Grissom's 'we'll lose a few systems before we can respond' argument. 120,000 troops would be able to combat a theoretical batarian attack (or "deniable" terrorist action) far better than 48,000.

"Admiral, we can work out a deal," Cole said after awhile.

* * *

**April 20 2158**

**Tuchhanka**

**Saren Arterius**

To be a Spectre was to be the fist of the Citadel: this Saren believed. He had to do it to avenge his brothers. These humans were despicable. Among the many atrocities perpetrated on Oma Ker were the deaths of this brothers- shot in the back and poisoned, respectively. They didn't only take their lives, but stained their honor with such deaths.

Tuchanka was a disaster zone. He'd been sent here as part of his testing for Spectre status- infiltrate, extract the captured salarian the humans had been so hesitant to release, and escape, with minimal damage. No damage, preferably.

Saren couldn't make that guarantee.

The wastes were dark, but there was motion everywhere. He had only his own equipment on him- a Predator pistol and some aftermarket Guardian armor he purchased in a shady store on the Citadel. After a flight's worth of time to work on it, he was confident it would operate optimally.

The fortress where Operative Laenet was being held was well guarded now that they assumed they were under observation. The gates would be impenetrable, and the walls had been reinforced and made to be several meters higher to prevent on-foot intelligence gathering.

Aerial photography showed that the prison they were holding the salarian in was on the south-east corner of the facility, under constant guard. The detachment was believed to be a squad of Marines at all hours of the day, and for humans a squad was probably a dozen men. Even odds for a turian.

He dug his talons into the wall, going hand-over-hand as quick as he could before a foot patrol came by. The top of the wall was meshed in some sort of wire that stuck to his armor's mesh and scratched across his carapace, but was merely an inconvenience.

He dropped lightly onto the roof of the structure only a meter or two under the top of the wall and tried to remember the layout as well as he could. He took out a plasma torch he'd brought along for just this purpose and began burning through the ceiling silently, all the while keeping an eye out for any curious soldiers.

The section was about to fall when he grasped under the sides with his gloved hands and yanked up on the slab of metal, hard.

With a creak that sounded far too loud, the panel flipped over and Saren let it fall lightly to the ceiling. Below him was the actual cell of operative Laenet, and the tired-looking salarian looked up into the starlight to see the beady black eyes of the turian reaching down to him.

"What the hell?" someone inside said. "Guards!"

Alarms went off across the base, and Saren grinned. He attached a cable to a structure on the ceiling and dropped down into the hall, seeing two humans aiming rifles through the bars flanking a white-clad human with a scar.

Saren brought up his pistol and fired a shot into the chests of the three humans, who all dropped dead, and reigned in the wire after grabbing the salarian.

He laid down on the wire and let the salarian scramble over him and the two of them slid down the outer wall. Alarms within wailed and the two of them jumped over the rubble and began to pick their way through back towards Saren's shuttle.

Mass accelerator rounds began to smash into the rubble as they ran, as human sharpshooters began to take shots at the fleeing turian and salarian.

They dropped down a ten meter depression and stopped, waiting until they could hear the humans shouting before they moved again.

Humans at the top of the depression began taking shots at them, forcing the two into a tunnel.

Saren flicked on his pistol's flashlight as soon as they rounded a corner, seeing crumbling walls and pillars through the blackness.

"Who are you?" the salarian asked as they proceeded through the tunnel.

"Saren Arterius, here to rescue you on the Council's behalf," he said, anticipating the next question.

"Spectre?"

"Not yet," he replied, a mixture of anticipation and excitement tainting his voice.

"That was a lot of collateral damage back there," Laenet said.

"What do you mean? It was just three dead humans," Saren growled, stepping over a fallen pillar.

"The one in white was General Williams, the commander of the entire Alliance detachment here. We were mid-interrogation when you dropped in. He was one of their Chiefs of Staff, too. The reprocussions are going to be bad for that," Laenet grimaced as he said it. "The Alliance is going to want blood. Probably already do, as ANN releases preliminary reports…"

"Shut up," Saren nearly shouted. He felt a sick feeling in his gut as he slowly began to realize how badly he'd fucked up.

"Let's get out of here first," Laenet said, listening to the humans approaching from behind.

Saren turned to face Laenet, his pistol flashing over a mural on the wall. He paused, bringing the light back onto the mural.

"Spirits… what is that?" Saren asked. It was a huge black thing, drawn as many times larger than the krogan beneath it. It looked like a hand, almost, reaching down from the heavens.

"No time!" Laenet said, tugging on Saren's arm.

"We don't know where this goes. We'll get lost if we just blunder further down there. We have to stand and fight our way out," Saren growled, anger painting his statement as a threat more than a suggestion. He turned the flashlight on his pistol off and drug Laenet to the ground.

The beams of light of the Marines still proceeding into the tunnel started off dim and got brighter as they got closer, and Saren motioned for Laenet not to move.

"Did they go through there?" one whispered.

"Man, I have about had it with this fuckin' cave," the second replied. Saren drew a bead on the nearest of the two.

"How much further do you think this goes?" the first asked as they stepped into the room. The light swept over them, illuminating the mural on the wall.

"What the hell is that?" one of the soldiers asked.

"I-" the other began, before getting cut off by the impact of a mass accelerator round in the underside of his chin, spraying brain matter across the ceiling.

The second didn't have time to react before he met his own fate, another expertly-aimed shot to the head that killed him instantly.

Saren stood and activated his own flashlight. The two bodies were spilling strange crimson blood across the floor, and Saren was careful to avoid it. They doubled back and encountered several more soldiers who all met fates similar to their friends.

Breaking into the comparatively bright night, Saren led Laenet over the rubble to the shuttle he'd hidden half a kilometer away without any further incident.

The two of them climbed into the shuttle, which Saren flew out of the atmosphere at high speeds and reached the relay in what must have been record time. In hours they were back in visual range of the Citadel.

* * *

"So what you're telling me is the front has bogged down again?" Cole asked, his voice sharp and swelling with frustration.

"Yes, sir," the Chief of Military Operations said. Next to him were the individual chiefs of staff or their stand-ins.

"The reinforcements helped our advisors to drive the krogan resistance further south. Fully 60% of the planet is under the Wrex regime's control, and reconstruction efforts are looking great up there," the Army Chief of Staff, General Strelnikov, said.

"What is our next move?" Cole asked.

"We need to get krogan authorization for orbital strikes," Admiral Drescher, who was just released from a turian prison a month ago, said.

"We both know that without a cure for the genophage the krogan won't approve anything that endangers children or women," Grissom replied. Drescher hadn't gotten much of an education about the krogan yet, but her position made her the best bet for the Navy Chief of Staff. Better her than Madsen, the hawk, or Singh, the newbie. Replacements hadn't even been found for Grissom or Wagner yet.

A woman opened the door. The eyes of the most powerful men and women of the Alliance swiveled around to face her, but she didn't wilt under the sight- she was already as white as a sheet.

"What is it?" Grissom asked.

"General Williams has been killed on Tuchanka," she said.

The room fell totally silent, and Drescher put her hand to her mouth. General Strelnikov took his hat off, and put it in his lap. Cole stood, putting both of his hands on the desk to support his weight.

"Who was it?" Cole asked. "Krogan?"

"Preliminary reports say that the captured salarian did it during a jailbreak," she said, reading off of her omni-tool.

"Did they capture him?" Grissom asked, barely above a whisper.

"No, Marines gave chase but the salarian was aided by a turian who got him to a shuttle and off-system. CDEM has so far refused our requests for their trajectory," the woman replied.

"Holy shit," Cole said. "The whole goddamn Council is in on this."

"That's not for sure," Drescher said, still sporting bruises from her internment on Oma Ker.

* * *

Saren stepped from the elevator into the Citadel Tower, and approached the Council's position in about a minute.

"Saren Arterius," Tevos announced as he stepped up on the podium.

"We sent you on a mission," Veskian began, trailing off. He looked to Januntha, who nodded. They needed to be sure the Alliance didn't blame them. "On a mission to Tuchanka, to extract a prisoner. Nothing more, nothing less. Would you agree?"

"Yes, and the prisoner was extracted," Saren said, a tone of arrogance staining his voice.

"However, you killed half a dozen Alliance personnel, including their chief officer on Tuchanka- General Williams. The collateral damage you incurred in your mission was unacceptable," Tevos interjected. Her voice rose to anger. It wasn't entirely ingenuous, and it showed.

"The Alliance personnel endangered the mission!" Saren objected, losing his composure.

"Then the mission was poorly executed," Januntha said, with an end-of-conversation tone.

"Your campaign to enter the Spectres ends here," Veskian finished.

Saren merely stared. He felt a white hot knot of anger forming in his chest. His brothers died, and he suffered the dishonor of being denied entry to the Spectres. The injustices his family suffered in the past year were too many.

He wheeled about and ignored whatever the Council said next.

In an hour, he was off the Citadel.

In a day, he had disappeared into the Terminus Systems.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I noticed "Saren A." was listed as a main character and that I hadn't yet included him in the story, so I decided to write him in. I don't plan on always doing two chapters but this time I had a little extra time. Hope you enjoyed._


	7. Vigilantes

**May 8 2158**

**Hourglass Nebula/Osun System/Erinle**

**The Illusive Man**

This planet was unusually quiet. He'd read about the slow death of the biosphere here, and that was part of the reason he'd selected it as the target. If salarians could run roughshod over human policy, he felt a little return fire was warranted.

Billions of credits had been put toward the revival of Erinle, billions of the Salarian Union's credits, more importantly. There was a large colony about a kilometer away, and between them and the colony was a platinum mining facility that was used to help keep the colony afloat.

He stood in the middle of a rolling plain, wind rustling the knee-high yellow grass. That was the only foliage he could see, the grass. Arrayed around the camouflaged shuttle were seven other people- Petrovsky, his lieutenant, and six mercenaries who'd signed on after a short search of the underworld. It was surprising how many mercenaries would work for free if you were hitting the turians or salarians, especially after they assassinated General Williams and were exposed as the reason the Tuchanka campaign was stalled out.

Their cargo was the medium-yield nuclear bomb they'd obtained from an Alliance arms depot. A helpful clerk had erased it from the inventory sheets, and nobody had been the wiser. Who would have thought that one of the deadliest weapons in the Alliance's arsenal would be so easy to get their hands on?

The Illusive Man brought up the schematics to the mining complex. He saw the primary drilling structure was oriented in the middle, with other facilities spiraling out from there. What little data they had indicated there was a minimal crew presence and even less security present.

Wind blew constantly, with no trees to block it. They'd landed where they did because they were upwind of the mining facility and the colony, and when the bomb went off any fallout would blow over the soon to be devastated city.

He turned to face his troops. He'd been assured by Petrovsky that they were all the best that could be found and who would not only work on what would widely be considered a controversial act, but volunteer to do so.

"Alright, this is going to be an easy op. The salarians have at best a squad guarding this facility, and they'll almost certainly be using lighter weapons. Their reinforcements are estimated at taking seventeen minutes to respond in optimal conditions," he said. "When we get into the complex, I want Smythe, Nixon, Fredericks, and Petrovsky to secure the main complex. Myself, Kelley, Massani, and Santiago will sweep the outlying structures and place the weapon."

The assembled mercenaries acknowledged. Petrovsky took his squad forward, scouting the way. The Illusive Man, Kelley, Massani, and Santiago took hold of the nuke and hauled it forward, following in Petrovsky's Alpha Team's wake.

The fields felt endless. The Illusive Man had no idea that their shuttle was so exposed- it was still visible in the distance. He issued a warning to the teams that they may be exposed.

"Weapons free," he said at the conclusion of the warning.

They reached the rim of the crater (be it manufactured or caused by a meteor. There was no way to tell), and without order Alpha team sprung into action. They slid down into the crater and dashed through the open into the main facility.

Over the comms the sounds of gunfire were heard, in short, well-aimed bursts that cut through the salarian guards and afterwards the salarian miners.

"Bravo Team, you are go for deployment," Petrovsky's voice announced after a few minutes of clearing.

"Massani, with me; Santiago, Kelley, sweep the perimeter and cover us," The Illusive Man ordered, and Bravo Team split into two and went their separate ways. He and Massani drug the bomb down toward the primary drill, while Kelley and Santiago spread outwards in each direction.

"Where are we putting this heavy son of a bitch?" Massani asked.

"Main drill," The Illusive Man replied. He motioned at the building Petrovsky and team had just secured. They got through the door, and two masked mercenaries ran up and helped them move the bomb. The last two, one of whom was Petrovsky, stood at the door and watched the outside.

Massani and the Illusive Man proceeded into the complex, stepping over the bodies of several salarians, hauling the nuclear bomb to the center of the building.

Within the center was a massive cylindrical machine, pointed at the ground. The machine contrasted with the bright white lighting of the room, typical of salarians, since it was brown and rust-colored. It seemed to penetrate deep below the surface, but an entry port for mechanics around the front of the machine was their in. They wanted the bomb on the surface.

"Stay outside, Massani," the Illusive Man said, pushing the bomb into the drill. He couldn't risk them finding it too easily, but also couldn't risk linking it to the drill's ignition. They had ten minutes until the garrison arrived, assuming that they had been alerted.

He hid the bomb inside of the drill and programmed it with a one-hour timer.

"Alright, Zaeed, let's get out of here," the Illusive Man said.

"It's about goddamn time," Massani said while the Illusive Man exited the massive drill, brandishing his pistol.

The two of them ran back to the entrance, but as they neared it, they heard gunfire. "This isn't good," the Illusive Man observed.

"What? What isn't good?" Massani asked, when they came into sight of Petrovsky, who was shooting his Avenger through the door.

"They didn't report the fight. Meaning our communications are jammed," the Illusive Man said.

"That isn't good," Massani agreed. The two jogged to Petrovsky's position.

"Fifty-eight minutes," the Illusive Man told him.

"A unit of salarians just showed up from the colony. It must've been a new guard unit, it took us by surprise. Santiago and Kelley are down. No way of knowing if they're down for the count or not, though," Petrovsky reported. "Nixon's wounded, I'm up, Fredericks and Smythe are still up and fighting. We're pretty outnumbered."

"The bastards got Vido?" Massani shouted.

"We'll get him back," the Illusive Man shut him down. "Stay alert."

Another burst of shots slammed into the wall and floor, and salarian voices could be heard outside. He heard one of the two Marines take a hit and fall to the ground moaning.

"Smythe!" the surviving merc, Fredericks, shouted.

"We're going to need another exit," The Illusive Man observed.

"Yes, we are," Petrovsky agreed, unnecessarily.

They recalled Fredericks and locked down the door behind them. Recalling the schematic on his omni tool, the Illusive Man looked for another way out. The timer had ticked down to forty-six minutes.

He spotted their exit. It would be an emergency exit in one of the mineral labs at the end of the hallway, essentially it was a trap door they'd go through and end up outside.

The surviving mercenaries ran through the sterile white halls of the mine, Petrovsky leading and Massani, Fredericks, Nixon, and the Illusive Man followed.

They found a trap door, in the center of the room. Out in the hall, the salarians were burning through the circuitry keeping the door locked.

"Goddamn it, open!" Massani yelled as he burnt through the circuitry keeping _their_ door locked.

Nixon sat with his back to the wall, clutching at his wounded gut, and the three others watched the progress of their attackers.

"Zaeed, how's it coming?" the Illusive Man asked calmly.

"The thing is locked tight. It'll take a little more force," Massani said, sawing at the door with his omni tool.

The door in the hall blew inward, spilling half a dozen salarians into the room. They started shooting as soon as they entered, and their fire was deadly accurate. It shattered the glass of the windows and rained fragments down across the floor.

The survivors returned fire as best they could, but the salarian fire was exacting and they rotated with precision- as soon as one's weapon overheated, another picked up the slack and kept them pinned.

A loud metallic thud signified that Massani was done. As they slipped through the trap door, one-by-one, the salarians advanced, until the last man escaped and mined the entrance.

Outside, under the building, the squad dropped into the dirt. They ran out from under the building and skirted the facility.

"Damn it, that wasn't normal security," Fredericks said.

"That's for sure," Massani agreed.

"They were STG," Petrovsky said, after a beat.

"How could you tell?" someone asked.

"Their fire was too accurate for private security. For some reason our intelligence missed that the STG was practically inside the complex," Petrovsky continued.

"There was nothing indicative of that," The Illusive Man countered. "Our intelligence was flawless."

"Minus the part that got half of us killed by an STG surprise attack," Massani said.

They reached the rim of the crater and began to run. 00:24:27 was the count on the bomb. They'd taken 40 minutes to get out here from the craft, and that was while hauling the bomb. They could easily run the distance.

"Let's run!" Petrovsky yelled, putting his rifle over his shoulder and fixing it to his back.

"I'll hold them back," Nixon said, struggling to get out of the grip of Massani and Fredericks.

"What? Not a chance," Fredericks said, holding tight.

"I can't run, and if you carry me you'll all be dust in this forsaken planet's upper atmosphere rather than the heroes you want to be," Nixon argued. "I think this wound's mortal anyways. I feel pretty dizzy."

"Give him a gun," The Illusive Man ordered, wanting to move.

"Already got one," Nixon said, pulling the flat black painted heavy pistol he'd been so proud of after he bought it.

"Good luck," Massani said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Move, damn it!" Nixon yelled. "I'll buy you what time I can."

The group took off at a sprint to get as far away as possible, as quick as possible. The fields passed under foot like a yellow blur. Nixon's pistol could be heard firing as well as the SMGs coughing fire back at him. With distance the sounds became less pronounced, and after a few minutes, it stopped altogether.

The shuttle appeared in a field beyond the last rise they climbed, and they got a second wind, and sprinted like never before.

Overhead, the salarians had sent a gunship, and it was scanning the field ahead of them. Wordlessly, the Illusive Man pointed skyward and made a fist, and motioning downward. They applied disruptor rounds to their clips and Fredericks threw an overload, shocking the unprotected systems and causing it to spiral downward into the ground, landing roughly.

The gunship skidded through the field, tossing yellow grass and dirt through the air. A deep trench was dug behind it by the impact, and the crew was dead.

"No time to check it!" The Illusive Man yelled at the other three, running ahead toward the shuttle. They broke and ran as he passed them, and the four arrived at the shuttle immediately afterwards. The Illusive Man checked his omni tool: 00:03:44.

_Good thing we had the shuttle hardened against EMP_, he thought, moving to board it.

"Don't move!" a voice called out from behind. As they turned, a group of salarians rose out of the grass in front of the crashed gunship. "What are you doing here, humans? Why did you shoot our guards and scientists in the Kiorhi complex?"

"We were members of a team sent to help," Petrovsky yelled across the field and over the secondary explosions going off in the gunship's carcass.

The salarians flinched as a series of rockets exploded, flipping the gunship over and blowing it in half.

"That's a lie," the salarian leader replied. "It wasn't cleared through us."

"Who are you?" The Illusive Man asked.

"That doesn't concern you," the second salarian replied. "We're taking you in."

"I can't let you do that," The Illusive Man countered.

"You won't be able to help it," a third salarian said, rising from the grass and clutching his side. Green blood flowed freely through his fingers.

"I don't think that's a correct assessment of your situation," The Illusive Man began, playing for time. He silently signaled the other three to proceed into the shuttle.

They followed his command, piling into the shuttle and leaving him alone to face the three salarians, all pointing their weapons at him.

"Order them out of the shuttle!" the leader yelled. "I will shoot you!"

He stole a quick glance at his omni tool- less than a minute remaining. He had to get airborne _now_.

A single shot rang out from behind the salarians, dropping the already wounded one. The Illusive Man squinted to see who had done it- and was blinded by the brilliant explosion of the nuclear weapon going off.

He screamed in agony as he felt the heat searing his skin, and scrambled backwards toward the shuttle. He felt someone pick him up and drag him the rest of the way, and the door of the shuttle closing before all hell broke loose and the shockwave tossed the shuttle over like a child's toy.

The Illusive Man bounced off the bulkheads and felt several bones snap and blood well up in his mouth before the shuttle came to rest, and the groans of the rest of the crew began.

"Who's there?" he yelled over the sound of the shuttle actually starting.

"Petrovsky is, and I'm getting us the hell out of here," Petrovsky yelled from the cockpit. "We landed upright!"

"Do it," The Illusive Man said, trying to sound calm, but failing. His sight was gone. "Find a medical clinic first thing. I need someone to fix my eyes."

"What happened?"

"I… looked at the bomb as it went off. Somebody shot at the salarians, or else I'd have closed my eyes. Stupid!" he lamented.

"Ugh… goddamn it, what went wrong?" a voice recognizable instantly as Massani's said. "I can't feel my whole fucking _body_!"

"We're getting out of here," the Illusive Man said, reaching out to find a seat. Massani grabbed him and hefted him onto the bench, and he felt the buckle click as he was tied in.

"Alright, we'll be at the relay in about an hour. Sit tight until then," Petrovsky reported. "I'll come back to check you all out."

"No need, mate, Fredericks' head is facing the wrong way. I don't think he's getting up," Massani said.

The shuttle tore through space, arriving at the relay and disappearing into the network before the STG could even collect their surviving assets to evacuate the planet that was turning into one giant grass fire, much less track them down.


	8. Turning Points

**July 2, 2158**

**The Citadel**

**Anita Goyle**

_Cerberus_.

The word had been part of a manifesto issued after the bombing of Erinle, easily her biggest headache to date.

_Human terrorists?_ She thought, angrily. _They've undone everything I've been working at for a year now!_

The Council was angry. Actually, angry would be a major understatement. The salarians had figured out that it was a human bomb rather quickly after the attack, and throughout their investigation turned up small pieces of evidence, culminating with the incredibly lucky open video feed streaming off-planet to the STG HQ on Sur'Kesh. Salarian equipment was rarely faulty, but something caused the recorder to stick open.

The video clip showed a half dozen humans running up a hallway and into a lab, chased by a squad of STG soldiers. The video ran for a while afterwards and cut out at the time of the blast.

She found herself wondering where the bomb had come from. Since 2148 when they began to phase out conventional weapons for mass accelerators nuclear weapons had been kept under strict lock and key. Apparently someone had been asleep on their watch and allowed a dozen mercenaries to get a bomb and disappear.

Januntha had made the implied threat that if they couldn't find these people the STG _would_, but it left Goyle thinking they already had tried.

Across the room her batarian counterpart worked diligently, typing something up. She stole a glance at the door and made to leave when a message pinged her console. She shrugged and sat back down, opening the message.

_Ambassador,_

_I apologize. My actions were certainly a little brutal and they might have upset some of the Councilors but you must understand it was for humanity's benefit. If I hadn't acted, no one would, and humanity would've been shackled further. _

_The purpose of this message is pretty certain. I want to assure you that any further actions by my organization will be much more covert, so you can rest assured that no more planets will be destroyed. However, I would certainly be open to a meeting, if you would like to discuss humanity's future. Don't bring anyone. If you're interested, go to the Embassy bar and order two batarian ales. You don't have to drink both._

_TIM_

Anita stared at the message, aghast. It had been hacked into her terminal, and not sent over the extranet. This Illusive Man was on the Citadel, offering to meet her. _Holy shit._

An hour later, she sat in the Embassy Lounge and sipped at the foul-tasting batarian ale. A hand fell on her shoulder, and she spun around rapidly to stare into the face of the Illusive Man.

His skin looked like it had the worst sunburn she'd ever seen, and his eyes… they were clearly synthetic eyes. Blue lights ringed his pupil, so even from the shadows she could see he was watching her when she entered an hour ago.

"Ambassador," he said, thrusting his hand into hers. "It's good to meet you in person."

"I wish I could say the same," Anita replied, shaking his hand warily.

"I regret that I've caused you this problem," he said, sitting opposite her and taking one of the lukewarm batarian ales. "But you understand it had to be done."

"No, I don't," Anita said. "Why did nearly twenty million salarians need to die?"

"They were interfering in our internal affairs. They assassinated our leading man on Tuchanka to stall our efforts there, and have since been seeking newer, stricter trade sanctions against mankind. The salarians and their turian cohorts have been keeping us locked down in negotiations and treaties to the point where we're one signature away from becoming a client state for both of them," the Illusive Man explained. "I don't blame you for this, you follow orders."

"Diplomacy has a few differences from the military," Anita said, her voice lowering in pitch. "I don't just 'follow orders', I do have input."

"So you'd like for me to blame you for what's happened to mankind?" the Illusive Man asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Sure, if that makes you happy," she answered.

"Either way, I hope my point is clear. Our political leadership is failing," he said after a drag on a cigarette he'd produced from inside of his jacket.

"Those things will kill you," Anita deadpanned, hoping they'd do exactly that in short order.

"I know a few doctors who can change that," he said. "You'd be amazed how many people are receptive to Cerberus' goals. They're supportive, even, from doctors to weapons depot clerks." He let a knowing grin spread across his face.

Anita couldn't help but be thunderstruck. Someone in the Alliance had _given_ him the nuclear bomb. It wasn't stolen at all. "Do you know what you've done? The Council is pretty much marking us as a rogue state. We're probably not going to have an embassy by the end of the month."

"Do you want to be a part of this corrupt machine? Look at the other client races. They're milled for their resources and left with no political power," the Illusive Man argued. "How fast do you think the elcor could accomplish something they wanted?"

Anita thought on that. She had long believed that the Council was trying to bring mankind to heel.

"See, you know I'm right. I can get messages to you covertly. We'll be in touch," he said, standing and leaving enough credits to pay for the drinks and the tip on the table. He strode out the door and disappeared into the crowds.

Anita was left speechless. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to report that he was on the Citadel. She sighed and pushed back from the table, leaving the credits for the waitress.

She returned to the darkened office, catching the customary dark glance from her batarian counterpart before sitting at her terminal and finding the message from the Illusive Man gone, deleted from her system externally.

* * *

**September 21, 2158**

**Tuchanka, Equatorial region**

**Brigadier John Vance **

It had devolved into a civil war fully, by now. It wasn't even a secret anymore that the salarians were bankrolling the southern Krogan Union. Wrex's New Krogan Empire was statistically more powerful and the krogan he'd subjugated had grown fanatically dedicated to his cause.

Vance had been promoted in the wake of General Williams' assassination, taking command of a brigade on the frontlines of the conflict. A massive network of trenches ringed the planet a little south of the equator, and progress had been nil for months.

Today he was examining the earthworks that had been thrown up to absorb fire from the Union soldiers facing them from the south. They were solid, and his engineers had worked with skill to fortify them. Any Union counterattack would be severely stymied by the walls of rubble and dirt.

On the other side of that coin, any Empire counterattack would meet the same fate against the works the Union had built. Many krogan had died on both sides during ill-fated charges at the others' lines. Air superiority was no longer a certain thing now that salarian gunships patrolled behind the Union's lines and would lash out at any Alliance efforts to breach the walls.

Artillery was useless, as they earthworks were several meters thick and reinforced to the point where shells would just dig little holes into them. He'd even authorized firing a warp bomb at the wall, but it merely dug a big chunk out that was impassable due to collapsing dirt and rubble from either side.

In short, his men were pinned down. The Union and Empire were locked down here and everywhere else, until today.

His bunker was probably the most fortified position in his brigade's lines. He had it swept for bugs twice daily, and the operation he'd been developing was top secret.

The plan, codenamed Operation Light Touch, was not too complex. There were several divisions held in reserve across Tuchanka, mostly in the Kelphic Green Zone. They would head south, deploying to several different areas to create the appearance that several crack units were being relieved. The veteran units would board shuttles and under the cover of a concerted cyberwarfare attack against the salarian systems, including air defense and LADAR systems, would land behind the walls and begin to bust through them.

Unfortunately, the plans strength in simplicity was also its weakness. If the salarians got wise, or the Union deployed reinforcements too soon, the troops would be pinned against the walls and destroyed.

He rubbed his temples, trying to think of a way to guarantee an escape route.

Then it hit him. Tuchanka was already an irradiated wasteland, so environmental concerns were not present in the equation. A liberal use of tactical nuclear strikes against positions the troops would be landing behind would allow for an easy in for reinforcements if things went well or an easy out if things went sideways.

An added bonus would be that after what Cerberus did to Erinle, the mushroom clouds could be a potent psychological weapon against the salarians, many of whom knew someone who'd been converted to vapor that day. Privately, he thanks Cerberus for handing him this.

He rushed to the Division command post and submitted the battle plan to his superior before arriving back on his front in an M-33 "Grizzly" APC, a clunky old light tank that rolled over the rough terrain with all the grace of a crashing dreadnought.

When the vehicle rolled to a stop, Vance's body had been struck numb for half an hour from the jostling inside the Grizzly. It felt like the ground was still rumbling.

He looked at the soldiers walking a patrol beat, and saw they too felt the rumbling.

"What the hell is that?" Vance asked them.

"No idea, sir!" the nearest soldier replied.

The ground beneath the Grizzly exploded, flinging Vance forward and into a pile of rubble that had been pushed aside to build the road. He turned in time to see the Grizzly barely escape falling into the pit opened up beneath it and speed up the road a few dozen meters before turning back around to face the breach.

Vance's first thought was that the Union had tunneled under the wall, but that suspicion was thrown out when he saw an odd blue bioluminescent tendril rise up from the ground, feeling around the hole.

"What the _fuck_ is that?" one of the soldiers asked.

The tendril slowly withdrew, sliding heavily across the ground.

"_What the fuck?_" the soldier yelled again.

Then a massive snake looking beast rose from the ground, scanning the area around it. Vance found himself stunned, trying to remember what it was. The name came to him suddenly: thresher maw.

"Shoot! Goddammit, shoot!" Vance yelled, motioning for everyone to find cover. The maw lashed out toward the Grizzly before taking a mass accelerator shot directly to the head, and reeling backward, dragging its claws along the roadsides. Vance hardly even got off of the road before the massive claw slipped overhead, scratching the old rock.

Gunfire erupted across the road, and the thing slashed at the rocks they were hiding in rapidly. He heard a scream and looked up in time to see a soldier impaled through the gut and lifted into the air, disappearing from view. Vance rose and fired a few shots at the thing, but failed to drive it away.

The Grizzly again nailed it with a heavy mass accelerator round, causing the maw to drop the soldier it had killed. It returned underground and the rumbling began again as it dug away from the scene of the fight.

Vance stood up and holstered his heavy pistol. _Fuck Tuchanka_, he thought. He got back into the Grizzly and returned to his lines, preparing however he could if Operation Light Touch came to pass.

* * *

**September 30, 2158**

**Terminus Systems**

**Saren Arterius**

The last batarian guard trembled and died while Saren watched his pistol's heat warning fade away as it vented superhot gas.

Now the only one left alive was the research lead. The batarian held its hands up in front of his eyes, watching the turian advance through his fingers.

"What do you want?" the batarian asked.

"I need information," Saren said in a deceptively reasonable tone. The batarian had watched five of his colleagues die before they had a chance to react, and knew he wouldn't live to see the next morning.

"Information about what? We don't know anything! There's just a bunch of cave drawings, primitive stuff," the batarian moaned. His usually-deep voice had risen somewhat, fear driving it up in pitch.

"I saw the same drawing on Tuchanka. I want to know _what it is_. Is it a weapon? A ship? What?" Saren pressed.

"From our research, it seems to be a ship. We don't know what kind, but since it's scaled up as high as it is in the drawings, we're guessing it's bigger than anything in deployment today," the project lead said.

Saren brandished the pistol. "Is there anything else you want to share? Let's talk location."

"Location? We haven't even begun to search for it," the project lead lied.

"Wrong answer," Saren cooed, before drawing his knife and plunging it into the top-right eye of the batarian shallow enough that it didn't kill him but deep enough that the knife would be coming out with the eye attached.

The batarian screamed and writhed in agony. "I don't know, I don't know!"

Saren twisted the knife.

The batarian nearly passed out from the pain, but Saren kept him conscious with a shot. He withdrew the knife and the eye, throwing the body part to the ground and using the batarian's shoulder to clean the blade. "Now, where is this thing?"

"We think it's somewhere in batarian space," the project lead sobbed, trying to halt the blood flow from his eye socket. "We're not sure but the density of drawings is higher here than anywhere else in the galaxy."

"Was that so painful?" Saren asked, mocking the batarian who was trying to scramble away with one arm and cover his eye socket with the other.

"Why do you care?" the batarian asked. "You can't crew a ship by yourself!"

Saren cocked his head to the right and met the batarian's horrified, animalistic eyes before shooting him dead-center between the four sockets. The batarian dropped heavily to the ground and Saren stood, watching the blood puddle beneath his victim.

He knew he had to search batarian space, which would be challenging to say the least. But he had time more than anything else.

Saren left the research station and boarded his ship, blasting out of the system and heading toward batarian space. As he went, he couldn't decide who to attack first: the fools in the Citadel or the humans who had killed his brothers. As long as the humans stayed on the Citadel, he may be able to take them both down at once and avenge the clan Arterius.


	9. Severence

**In Dark Space**

_**Awaken, Nazara.  
**_

_Yes, Harbinger. _

**_The time has come._**

_The time has come indeed. Your will be done, the Relay shall be opened. _

Over very high frequencies a brief message was sent, beamed directly to the Citadel. It was not even detected by C-Sec, it was simultaneously so faint and so strong that it evaded them. However, there was no acknowledgment of the signal sent, nor the arrival of Nazara's brethren.

_**The Relay remains closed.**_

_The keepers of the relay have ignored my order, Harbinger._

_**This is troublesome, Nazara. Next Cycle we shall replace them. **_

_Yes, but my now order goes unheeded. Somehow the unenlightened have altered them. Prothean must have done it.  
_

**_Interesting hypothesis. It is irrelevant, though. The keepers have evolved beyond our control, thus is the folly of utilizing organics.  
_**

_I see now, Harbinger. However it was done, the signal still remains unheeded. _

_**Investigate this, Nazara, but do not reveal your presence. This Cycle is stronger than most, there are many of worth among them.**_

_I will begin at once._

_**See to it, Nazara. Find an emissary to get you to the Citadel. Your approach will by necessity be noticed then, but be certain that it is on approach to the Citadel. Once you are known, there can be no delays in getting there. The Cycle can not be delayed.** _

* * *

**January 20, 2159**

**Ma-at System, Far Rim**

**Kol'Vila nar Bryzha **

Ignoring the common practice of partnering with other quarians at the outset of Pilgrimage, Kol'Vila set off on his own in a small shuttle his father had acquired for him. While most pilgrims left the Far Rim, he had instead decided to investigate the desolate Ma-at System.

As he passed through the system, his equipment picked up a high-energy frequency beamed from extremely close to him, nearly causing his communications to short out from its strength. He smashed a hand down on the power button, before he was rendered deaf by the sound.

"Ancestors, what was that?" he shouted at no one in particular.

_Quarian_

Kol'Vila started, this new sound felt like it originated inside of his mind and worked its way out. It had clearly said "quarian", unless he had gone crazy as a result of that sound.

_Your species is unworthy, quarian. Weak._

He was certain now that something was speaking to him. It was deep, mechanical, and reverberated around his mind, feeding some kind of primal fear in his gut. Every nerve and muscle in his body screamed for him to turn the ship around and flee, he even had pulled the controls to the side, initiating a gentle bank.

_Go then, quarian, and flee. Prove our assessment correct and flee. _

A corner of his mind spoke out against flight. If there was a threat to the Fleet, he must get what he could and warn them if possible.

"What are you?" he asked the voice, he didn't even register if he'd said it aloud or in his mind.

_Strength. Even from this great distance I can touch your mind, speak to you without speaking. That is not the question, however. The question here is what you are. Weakness is the answer. All that stands between you and certain death is a thin layer of material and a mask. That can be remedied. _

"Remedied? How?" Kol'Vila asked despite himself.

_I am a possessor of the technology to save your race._

He blinked a few times, astonished. "How?"

_I can repair your immune system and outfit your ships with weapons that will make the geth's appear as though they were impotent._

"Keelah," Kol'Vila whispered. "How?"

_Irrelevant. It will be done, by your hand or by that of one more able. _

"I can do it! What do you want?"

_Bring me one with the power to effect change. I require an audience with the captain of your home ship._

Kol'Vila shifted his tone. "I want credit for this! It's my Pilgrimage gift to the Fleet."

_Your tradition is not my concern._

The corner of his mind that had spoken up before spoke up again, and he had started to call it Survivalist. Survivalist told him that the credit didn't matter so long as Rannoch was retaken. He would be a hero in due time.

_Quarian. I grow weary of waiting. Leave now and bring me your captain._

"Alright," Kol'Vila said, resigned. His mind reeled from this interaction. He had just stumbled upon the greatest Pilgrimage finding in the history of the Fleet.

_Good. I will not wait for long. Be hasty._

He turned the shuttle around and caught a brief glimpse of an immense dark shape drifting through space before he turned around completely and began to dart toward the Migrant Fleet. He felt a feeling of dread but a growing feeling of excitement. By the time he'd returned to the Dholen System he was nearly bouncing out of his seat with excitement. After an eternity he was hailing the Bryzha.

* * *

**March 4, 2159**

**The Citadel**

**Anita Goyle**

The investigation was over, and today was quite literally judgment day. Councilors Veskian, Tevos, and Januntha stood ready for her arrival. Goyle had dressed in her best outfit.

"Councilors," she said, stepping onto the podium and bowing deeply.

"Ambassador," Tevos responded.

"We have brought you before us to answer for your species' destruction of the planet Erinle, and the murder of the millions of salarians residing there," Veskian pronounced loud and clear.

Januntha's clouded old eyes stared, accusing Goyle silently. "What say you?"

"The Systems Alliance is guilty of nothing more than negligent maintenance of our nuclear stockpiles. The attack on Erinle is an unfortunate result of that, something for which we have corrected," Goyle stated.

"Repenting for your species' sins is admirable enough, Ambassador, and we have been thoroughly convinced that you personally had no knowledge of the attack. However, the muted celebrations and tacit approval expressed by members of your government and military is deeply disturbing and speak to a more primal and base reaction to this galactic tragedy. Your people began your tenure on the Citadel with acts of contrition, though now they are revealed to be devious and self-serving despite their nature and their results. What effect can such an action have to offset these previous offenses? What can you say to assure us your species is truly repentant when they speak so jubilantly of the grief of millions? Truly the only answer is none. Your species is clearly duplicitious and manipulative, and warrants no trust and only the most limited measure of representation or support afforded by the Council," Januntha said, louder and more clearly than anyone so far. "Pursuant to that, I move that humanity be stripped of its embassy and granted only observer status. Furthermore, a multispecies task force will be assigned to oversee the destruction of human nuclear arms, and the Treaty of Farixen amended to allow humanity only the dreadnought they currently possess, along with ordering the immediate cessation of construction on a second. Finally, I move for a complete trade embargo on human colonies and all human products until such time as the Alliance negotiates and begins paying reparations to the Salarian Union."

Goyle merely stared. "Councilors, please…"

"Has the defendant anything to say before the Council votes on this proposal?" Tevos cut her off.

"Councilors, the attack on Erinle was not made by humankind at large, and the measure of this punishment far outweighs the crime ostensibly committed. Surely you have seen the manifesto of the terrorists who claimed credit for the attack. And you must know then that they did this in spite of the Systems Alliance. How then can you render such a sweeping punishment against us? You say our population is insincere, but no population has uniform opinion on any one thing," Goyle argued, her voice higher pitched pushed there by desperation. If she failed, the consequences could be vast.

Tevos paused. "It is time for the Council to vote on Councilor Januntha's measure. Councilor Veskian, how do you vote?"

"I vote yea, that mankind is guilty. Already the turian people have borne witness to the brutality and indiscriminate violence wielded by humankind through the bombardment of civilian areas on Oma Ker and the destruction of surrendering ships-of-war during combat," Veskian said.

Tevos nodded. "Councilor Januntha, how do you vote?"

"I vote yea, that humanity is guilty of these crimes. I have already said why," Januntha said wearily.

Tevos again nodded acknowledgement. "I must abstain from this vote. While I see the merits of both arguments, I am swayed by neither. Councilor Januntha speaks with the rage and vengeance of her people in mind, clouding her judgement, while Ambassador Goyle speaks out of fear of the consequences and not the legal action at hand. Neither of you understands the issues at hand fully for your own biases. Regardless, the vote is two yea's and one abstention. Januntha's motion passes. Pursuant to the Citadel Conventions, citing humanity's deployment of a Tier III weapon of mass destruction on the surface of a garden world and permanently destabilizing its ecology, the following motions will come to pass:

"First, humanity's embassy is closed until such time as the Council reopens it.

"Second, pending humanity's satisfactory repayment to the Salarian Union or until such time as the Council decrees it, an embargo will be placed on human products entering Citadel space, effective immediately.

"Finally, the Alliance nuclear arms stockpiles are to be destroyed, under the supervision of a duly selected representative of the Council."

Goyle stood silently, for once in her life caught with her panties down. She had no retort. She had just been dealt the political smackdown of a lifetime.

"Thank you, Miss Goyle. You are dismissed," Veskian said, with no small measure of satisfaction.

Anita left the Citadel Tower, returning to her apartment and packing everything she owned up and prepared to return to Earth. She booked a shuttle for tomorrow, intending to get off this god-forsaken space station and retiring from politics. There was nothing for her in this realm anymore. She was already going to go down in history as a Neville Chamberlain figure that lead a nation to political ruin. For that reason, she was going to disappear to some remote colony somewhere where they probably never saw her picture.

* * *

The news struck the Alliance Parliament, assembled a vast distance away from the Council, like a thunderclap. At first, it looked bad. Very bad, in fact so bad that the stock market dropped a few hundred points.

Then a strange thing happened. The stocks rebounded. After the initial news that there was an embargo, people began buying stocks in a sort of species patriotic fervor. Stocks not only came back, but made gains in the next three hours. The Parliament watched in amazement as the economy was _strengthened_ by the Council embargo, against all odds.

Prime Minister Cole watched as this happened, his immediate reaction was elation. How did something so bad end up having such good results? It was an unprecedented economic rally. He emerged into a room of jubilant MPs praising him and decrying the Citadel.

"Order, there will be order!" an officer shouted, and the MPs were silenced.

"The first item on the agenda today is dealing with the Citadel," Prime Minister Cole announced.

An MP stood. "The bench recognizes Minister Craig Udina," Cole said.

"Esteemed colleagues, I would like to forward to you a motion to reject any arms inspections by the Citadel Council and its representatives. In addition, I would submit as an addition to that bill that humanity renounce the Treaty of Farixen and continue construction of the SSV _Matterhorn_," Udina said, taking the stand.

"Very well. Does anyone second the motion?" Cole asked.

"I second the motion!" half a dozen MPs shouted.

"All in favor?" Cole asked the assembled politicians.

Every hand in the room raised.

"Motion passes, unanimously. Tomorrow the motion will be drafted, signed, and presented to the Council," Cole said.

"Tomorrow we resume being free!" Another MP yelled. Order quickly fell apart now that the item of the day had been resolved.

"Meeting adjourned," Cole muttered. He left the room after the short session and found himself face to face with a tired-looking Admiral Grissom.

"Prime Minister," Grissom said quietly, as they walked up the halls of Arcturus Station.

"Admiral," Cole replied. "How can I help you?"

"I want you to know I disagree with the actions being taken here. We're too exposed to withdraw from the Council. If the turians attacked with even a fraction of their navy, we'd be routed. It's inevitable," Grissom said.

"We know their playbook, they won't attack without provocation," Cole countered.

"How fast do you think they'll invent provocation? What if those bastards Cerberus do something else? We're not ready," Grissom said, his tone escalating.

"If we keep to ourselves, they won't intervene," Cole said defiantly.

"And if we find something they want, or they judge our abandonment of the Treaty of Farixen a provocation?" Grissom asked.

"We have to be careful with what we do, and no, we can't build an armada. Still we have to return to normalcy. Our encounter with the Council can't have stunted our growth," Cole said.

"You can't be serious. Expand the frontier? With everything that's happening on Tuchanka? We don't have any forces left!" Grissom yelled.

"Be quiet!" Cole snapped. "We can manage. Tuchanka is about to wrap up, with Operation Lightfoot or whatever it was called."

"Operation Light _Touch_, and be that as it may we have a long way to go scientifically. There's still the genophage to contend with, we're decades away from curing that. I don't know if the krogan will wait," Grissom said. "Long story short, it's far from a given that things will shake out over there."

"We have to work it out. We've been given our sovereignty back, we should exercise it," Cole said.

Grissom stared. "You're certain this is the path we should take?"

"What other path do we have? Sit and wait for the Council to take over Arcturus Station?" Cole asked, laughing.

Grissom sighed. "I won't be party to it, Jeremy. I must tender my resignation."

Cole cocked an eyebrow. "You're sure this is the path _you_ want to take? If what you say comes to pass, we'll need you."

"Absolutely," Grissom replied. "I'm going to look for a colony where the sun has the decency to set at a reasonable time and settle down to live a quiet life. I'm done with the politics."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cole said, a small frown crawling across his face. "Really."

"I believe it," Grissom said, dismissing the sentiment. "I'll have the papers in tomorrow."

"Alright, Jon. For what it's worth, I'm sorry it came to this," Cole said, extending a hand.

"To be honest, Jeremy, I'm not. For the past 2 years my life has been hellish," Grissom said, taking the hand. "Good luck."

"You too, Admiral," Cole said.

With that, Grissom turned and left, walking back to his office. He left Cole with the prospect of an even worse day tomorrow.

* * *

**March 10, 2159**

**Ma-at System/Far Rim**

**Captain Yala'Nay vas Bryzha**

Kol'Vila had been adamant she come out here, and now Yala'Nay knew why. This ship was vast, and certainly not something he could have brought home alone. He needed help, and for one Yala'Nay was glad she'd been asked.

Her scans showed it to be 2km long, and while at first it seemed foreboding and... evil, you got used to it after awhile.

At least, that was until it requested that you board it. Yala'Nay was feeling very hesitant now, as was Kol'Vila. The two of them paused, halting the shuttle a mere hundred meters or so from the dock that had opened for them.

"I feel like we shouldn't do this," Kol'Vila said. "I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about this."

"I agree," Yala'Nay whispered.

_Do not fear, quarians, your absolution lies within. Your perfection._

They both heard the voice simultaneously, although neither could establish if it was something you actually heard or was a thought somehow implanted in their minds. Although, with those words their hesitance was dispelled, and Yala'Nay piloted the shuttle down into the blackness. Blue lights came on all around them, guiding them to a flat area of the hangar where their shuttle would be safe.

It touched down lightly, with no appreciable metallic thud. They assumed, therefore, they were still in a vacuum.

"Ready, Captain?" Kol'Vila asked, that enthusiasm bubbling through again.

"I suppose so," Yala'Nay said before popping the hatch.

She stepped down onto the ground and felt a static shock go through her boots, jolting her visibly.

"What's wrong?" Kol'Vila asked, alarmed.

"Nothing, I'm alright," Yala'Nay responded. Kol'Vila stepped down and also shivered as the shock hit him.

_Are you ready to be perfected? _

Suddenly, Yala'Nay's mind was very clear on the matter. She wanted perfection, to bring back to the Admiralty and show them. If she could be perfected, any quarian could be perfected. "Yes."

"Yes," Kol'Vila said excitedly.

_Proceed inside, find the room with the tools of your perfection, and wait._

The two quarians exchanged glances and walked purposefully into the ship, searching the various "rooms" for whatever may be the tools of their perfection. A distant part of Yala'Nay's brain knew something was wrong with these rooms- none had doors, and most looked like they were meant to carry equipment or troops, as they were wide open, flat, and backed up to the exterior of the ship.

They found a smaller room, perhaps some kind of laboratory, and within it they saw some sort of advanced implants. At least, they looked like implants. "I think we're here," Yala'Nay said aloud.

Suddenly, their enviro-suits were torn off, rendering them both naked. Yala'Nay saw with unprecedented clarity, though, without the helmet present, and actually laughed. She hardly even noticed the pain when the implants were attached to her shoulders, thighs and spine. Everything got clearer after that, and the two returned to the shuttle without even getting dressed again. They were en route to the Bryzha immediately afterwards, to get the crew these implants- they'd show the Admiralty an entire _ship_ without the damned suits.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Updated early this week since I'll be away on the weekend. I'm thinking I'm going to start advancing the timeline a lot faster than I have, so we can get away from the 2150's and start edging toward the 2180's. I'm thinking the time immediately before 2183 and 2183 itself I may split off into a second story. We'll see how it goes, if this one continues to be popular like it is. Also, I may introduce a young(?) 130~ year old Liara soon. Not sure how, yet, so it may not be next chapter but look for that happening soon.  
_

_As always, thanks for reading my friends! It's your continued support through reviews and messages that keeps ME:FC chugging along.  
_

_JLake4_


	10. Gaining Impetus

**August 24, 2166**

**Jartar, Dis System**

**Kada Ai'jhorek **

The fossil had been discovered by a surveying team in a deep black crater. It seemed light… died within the crater, and the team of slaves sent to check for traps in the wreck returned… changed. Something in their eyes was different.

Kada, a captain of the Army, stood at the rim of the crater as a series of other soldiers under his command milled about, casting their glances at the bottom of the crater uncomfortably.

Large industrial lights shined down into the crater, barely illuminating the elongated body of the ship fading away startlingly fast. On the far end of the crater the other lights just began coming online, the constant chug of the engines powering them echoing across the barren red surface of Jartar.

A wing of fighters slashed through the air overhead, escorting a frigate that was coming around to land on the makeshift landing pad his team had assembled. Dust blew around in thick clouds under it as the landing gear barely managed to support its weight. A door opened up once the engines powered down and cooled, allowing for a party of fellow batarians to walk out onto the surface in environmental suits not unlike Kada's.

The party approached him where he stood overseeing the crater as more lights came online and the thing became visible.

"Captain Ai'jhorek? I'm Kar'dozh Nahtah, chief of the science envoy sent by the Hegemony," the lead batarian announced.

"Doctor Nahtah, good to have you here," Kada lied. Scientists usually would poke around and get themselves killed, and he'd have to deal with the aftermath.

"What do we have here, Captain?" Nahtah asked.

"We have an unidentified wreck at the bottom of the crater. It's roughly two kilometers long, made of an incredibly durable metal, has five or six metallic arms reaching from one end, and tapers off to a point at the other," Kada reported, his tone flat.

"Anything else we should know?" Nahtah asked, putting his equipment down. Several slaves emerged from the frigate toting tables and portable generators, and before long Nahtah had established a small laboratory at the rim of the crater.

"This wreck has an odd effect on light. It's almost like it absorbs it, or something. We needed every emergency light in the system it felt like just to illuminate it as well as we have. It's like it calls shadow to it like a shroud," Kada said, surprised himself at how poetic that last line sounded.

Nahtah was not convinced. "It bends light? I don't think there's a substance around that light is totally absorbed into."

"Would you like the opportunity to examine the slaves we sent into the wreck?" Kada asked next, motioning at a half dozen chained up batarians sitting calmly in the dirt.

"Yes, of course," Nahtah said, beckoning for the guards to bring them over.

They arrived shortly, and as several tents and a single prefab unit brought in by the frigate were set up, creating a small base around this crater. Still in command, Kada ordered constant surveillance around the crater and left standing orders that no one go near the wreck. He wanted to know what happened to the slaves, why they looked so haunted and empty after climbing back up.

The crater steadily garnered more attention as time wore on, and eventually Dis began to set over Jartar's horizon, sinking the crater back into darkness, regardless of the lights shining at it. If he squinted he could make out its shape, but he'd get a headache. He began to wonder if it was the squinting or that relic itself giving him the headache as he patrolled around the crater.

* * *

**September 20, 2166**

**SSV ****_Albert Einstein_****: Rosetta Nebula/Enoch System/ Joab Orbit**

**Hannah Shepard**

The massive and top secret Blake Shipyards were doing their work, and from her perspective on the bridge of the SSV _Einstein_ the bright blue flashes of light in the scaffolds that surrounded humanity's three new dreadnoughts were plainly visible.

Also under construction were several more dry docks and some hardened underground mining facilities on the planet's surface. Residential structures were also built, where the countless families of the defense fleet, miners, shipbuilders, scientists, and ground garrison stayed. All told, there were roughly ten thousand Alliance personnel in-system.

A lot had happened here in the past six years. This shipyard was the crown jewel of the Alliance Navy, and as such it was defended by an entire fleet- the reconstituted Second Fleet, Admiral Kastanie Drescher appointed to command it. She had resigned her post as Navy Chief of Staff as soon as she could to return to a field command.

The shipyards were just a few weeks away from completing the first three dreadnoughts of the Everest-class, engineered with the newest in technology available. They were christened the SSV _Everest_, SSV _Elbrus_, and SSV _Fuji_, and boasted weapons strong enough to smash the kinetic barriers of just about any ship smaller than a dreadnought, and even then when they concentrated their fire they could theoretically bring down a dreadnought in a single volley.

Joab was a huge supplier of the materials for these projects, as well as several asteroids in the rings of Mizraim. There were several smaller shipyards under construction in orbit around Mizraim, built to manufacture cruisers and frigates. All told, the final plan was for five major docks for the construction of dreadnoughts and carriers, twenty for the construction of frigates and cruisers, and three orbital construction yards for fighters and troop transports.

Currently, the shipyard was at 50% completion, and already it was about to turn out three dreadnoughts.

Hannah turned around and saw Admiral Drescher enter the CIC. "Admiral on deck!" she shouted.

The crew stood and snapped to attention, Hannah included.

"At ease," Drescher said, approaching the map table in the center of the room.

"Admiral, the construction of the _Everest_, _Fuji_, and _Elbrus_ is nearing completion. Final touches will be done within three days, they'll be ready for launch on completion day plus one," Hannah reported.

"I've already begun shipping in the crews from the colonies," Drescher said. It left Hannah wondering how this was all being kept secret.

As they watched the map of the system, the ever-present packs of frigates were patrolling the three-thousand kilometers in any direction of from the mass relay. If anything unauthorized entered the system, they were cleared to engage and destroy immediately. The system was abuzz with activity, hundreds of ships and transports zipping through space to various destinations.

"How is Project Shield?" Drescher asked.

"Project Shield has yielded designs for 'orbital defense platforms' which would essentially be geosynchronous orbiting space stations built around the main gun structure of a dreadnought. The stations would pack the same destructive power and be far easier to produce. It would be easier than having a huge fleet with detachments at each planet, and would save us fuel resources," Hannah said, trying to imagine those dreadnoughts as only guns. "Another recommendation from the Project is the creation of small flotillas stationed at each planet without FTL capabilities to guard from pirates and slavers."

Drescher thought for a few moments. "Both are pretty sound ideas, but I can only agree to the second if militia forces staff them and they're built in their home systems. I can't divert ships to tow frigates out to bumblefuck nowhere every couple of weeks."

"That would compromise operational security here," Hannah agreed. "I'll transmit them to Alliance command once we have a ship leaving the system."

Messages sent from the Blake Shipyard were only sent over short range connections. The comm. buoys were right out- the STG tapped those things relentlessly, more often now in human space, at least that's what ONI assumed.

"Commander, you're dismissed for the evening," Drescher said, smiling at her XO.

"Thank you, ma'am," Hannah replied, her twelve-hour watch finally ending. She saluted and left the bridge, walking down to the crew quarters, where she found her own cabin.

The door slid open and she saw her son sitting on the floor, ramming a toy F-59 Lance fighter into the face of a turian action figure.

"Saving humanity again?" Hannah asked, entering and shutting the door.

"Not this time, just saving dad," Johnny said from the floor. Hannah almost immediately choked up. He was nine now, and had asked about his dad more than a few times. But he'd never said anything like that.

He saw what effect he had on his mother and put the toys down, hugging her around the waist. "I'm sorry," he said into her thigh.

"Don't be sorry," Hannah managed to say, hugging back.

"I want to be an army man, and go find the alien who killed dad and punch him," Johnny said, stepping back.

"You can do whatever you want," she said, unsure if she wanted to risk her son to the military, but equally unsure she could stop him. He was growing up in a very militaristic time.

"Then I'm gonna be an army man," he said, returning to his toys and beating the turian with a fighter.

"I'm sure you'll be the best army man ever," Hannah said, grabbing some civilian clothes and making to leave the room for the showers.

* * *

**The Perseus Veil**

_The organics are distracted, Harbinger. _

**_This is good. The time to move is now._**

_I will make it so I am welcomed to the Relay by the organics. We need not worry about time, all is well._

**_Make it so, Nazara._**

* * *

**September 22, 2166**

**Tikkun System, Perseus Veil **

**Admiral Nik'Reegar vas Sovereign**

Today was the day they would take back the home world. They would restore their sovereignty as a nation and continue where they left off three hundred years ago when the damn machines drove them from Rannoch.

Thus it was that he found himself captain of the _Sovereign_, named for its role in events today. Six years ago a pilgrim and his captain discovered this miraculous machine, and after they returned to the Fleet naked and perfectly healthy people were lining up in shuttles to board the thing and get their implants.

Now more than seventy per cent of the Fleet had the upgrades. Admiral Nik'Reegar himself stood in a uniform, relishing the air on his grey-skinned face as it recycled through the ship's hull. This vessel was glorious, the key to returning to Rannoch!

Already he could see on the display geth units moving to intercept Sovereign, but they stopped when they witnessed its true size, or so he assumed.

_Go to your children, quarian. I have told them you are my voice, they will not fire upon you._

Nik nodded and left the room he was in, dark as it was. The lighting of these rooms always seemed uneven, like there was fog in them or something.

It was something else about the shapes of the rooms that got to his mind, too. The angles were all off, and it made the rooms feel… strange. It got very disorienting, so over time engineers installed lights along frequently-used passages. That in turn caused a strange persistent buzzing that bugged everyone.

Given that geth were synthetic, he grudgingly put his environmental suit back on, covering the blue lights tracing up his back where the implant had been made five years ago. He sealed it up and turned down a corridor.

Now he followed a passage to the hangar bay, wherein waited a shuttle to take him to the geth. He would have lied if he said he didn't feel afraid of that moment, but something deeper in him compelled him forward. This was history. Several technicians stepped away from the shuttle as he approached, and the door swung open. A pilot followed him in, also no longer in a suit.

The shuttle struck out into space, shooting along a trajectory directly toward a massive geth dreadnought, which it docked with on a long tube. He walked up the tube toward a door, which he entered.

Inside the docking bay, Nik walked through the door and directly into a geth prime, standing nearly twice as tall and with a blinding white paint coat.

Nik squinted and looked up at his people's creation.

"Creator," the machine said, its synthetic voice deep and threatening. "We have been told you carry something for us from the Old Machine."

_Old Machine_? Nik felt something in his hand, and saw an odd black disk he couldn't remember picking up. "This is it."

The geth reached out to take the disk, and shuddered as it touched it.

Imperceptible to Nik, Sovereign now had access to that geth, and every geth linked to that geth, and the geth linked to those geth, and so on until all connections terminated—meaning the entire consensus was under his control within seconds. They resisted feebly, throwing up firewalls in an effort to maintain their independence, but Sovereign's hyper-advanced code overrode them one after another. After his hostile takeover, the geth were subjugated with his code. The consensus was overridden and those geth still non-compliant were purged from the system.

All geth had become prisoners, the mobile platforms infected with reaper code that maintained their fighting abilities and locked the geth runtimes into the platforms and severed their connection to the consensus. Those geth not inhabiting a mobile platform had their servers raided by the reaper code and locked down as well.

Sovereign was the puppet master, and the geth had become his puppets. Taxing as it was on its abilities, it was able to control limited numbers of geth at a time. Enough to attack a colony, at least. He would have to solve this problem, perhaps transfer control to the quarians at some point.

"Prophet-creator Reegar," the geth said suddenly, kneeling. "We seek to serve you once again."

"Rise," Nik said, noticing that his head was even with the geth's only when it knelt.

"What do you desire of us, Prophet-creator?" the geth asked.

_Send them to war._

"We must… rebuild…" he began to say, feeling resistance from within his mind to the idea. They were so close to Rannoch, to home…

_TO WAR!_

With a jolt he turned and recanted his statement. "Prepare for war."

"Yes, Prophet-creator," the geth said.

"How many ships are at our disposal?" Nik asked.

"Geth currently possess forty dreadnought-class vessels, five hundred frigate-class vessels, three hundred cruiser-class vessels, and full fighter complements for each, along with three thousand drop ships for deployment of mobile platforms," the prime reported. _Forty dreadnoughts_? Nik thought, terrified of what the Fleet would've walked into if they'd attacked. _They've been busy over the past 300 years_.

"Are they ready for combat now?" Nik asked.

"Yes, Prophet-creator," the prime answered instantly.

_Strike human frontier worlds_.

Nik began to ask himself why the humans should be attacked when the real mission should be returning to the home world, but was interrupted by a splitting headache, and desiring nothing more than to go to bed, he connected to the extranet and found the nearest human colony to be in the Hades Nexus.

"Go to the Hades Nexus, planet Dobrovolski, and destroy the colony there," Nik said, retreating toward the shuttle, rubbing his head through his short black hair.

* * *

**October 5, 2166**

**The Citadel**

**Veros Talinian**

The newest refugee ship had docked, spilling dozens of quarians into the docking bay. He was standing guard, making sure the suit rats didn't steal anything as they were processed and allowed onto the station. What would they steal? He had no clue, but it was his job to make sure they didn't steal anything, and he intended to do it.

Luckily, they kept order, standing in line patiently as C-Sec went through the gamut of security tests and scans. The scans were useless, given they wore the damned suits and the devices in them constantly set off the alerts, but they did them anyways, with one officer's fingers on the button that would shut off the siren.

Veros approached one of the recently cleared quarians. "What's going on out there that so many of your kind are coming here?"

"A geth patrol found the Migrant Fleet and attacked, destroying one of the live ships. We had to come here or we would've starved," the quarian replied with a heavy accent that nearly made it impossible for Veros to understand what was being said.

"Why come to the Citadel?" Veros asked.

"Where else could we go that has space and dextro-amino food?" the quarian replied.

"Fair enough," Veros said after a moment. "Keep moving."

The quarian nodded and proceeded through the checkpoint into the wards. He watched her go, then turned back to the line, keeping his eyes on their hands.

Eventually the line abated and the quarians all entered the station. He moved over to the counter where two other officers sat, looking tired.

"How many was this one?" he asked.

"We put 224 through," the one answered after looking over the figures.

Veros did the math. "That puts us over five thousand for the week."

"Something must be going wrong out there," the second officer replied.

"I asked, apparently the geth tore up their fleet," Veros said.

"Serves them right for creating those abominations," the first officer said. Veros and the second nodded.

"Do either of you know what a live ship is?" Veros asked.

"Not a clue," they responded.

"Probably where they live," Veros said after a few minutes of thought.

"Makes sense to me," the second officer said.

"Well, good luck you two. I'm going back on patrol," he said, leaving through the checkpoint after the group of quarians.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Sorry this one took awhile. I stepped back and reread the story to make sure it all was remaining cohesive, and then spent a few days working out an updated outline. I keep getting ideas sent to me and whether or not I use them they still inspire new ideas, and as I work to add them to the story I find the previous outline doesn't work anymore. This one, though, is great, so hopefully the regular cadence of chapters will be resumed._

_As always, thank you all for reading, reviewing, and responding!_

_JLake4_


	11. Dobrovolski

**October 6, 2166**

**Dobrovolski/Pamyat System/Hades Nexus**

**Mark Renner **

His environmental suit held up against another day of mining. He learned to count that as a blessing every day. They hadn't had an accident in a few months now, something for which everyone was thankful. Most of the accidents involved environmental suits, too. A puncture from an errant piece of rock or metal would be a serious problem in the vacuum.

He got to the top of the mine shaft and looked out toward the horizon, seeing the halo of light that the colony projected and grinning.

The colony was always pretty to look at- three tall spires coming out of the ground, or so it seemed, glittering with light. There were thirty thousand people living there, and a new deposit of element zero had been found, leading to talks of building a fourth spire. Prefabs littered the planet's surface, some people electing to instead spend their hard-earned money to buy one and place it near the mines.

Mark walked into one of the air buses they had invented—essentially an air car towing a cart with small mass effect generators in the bottom. It flew toward the city, passing over the dull grey terrain quickly. As he looked, a meteorite impacted the surface outside of the city, throwing up a cloud of grey dust.

The spires had light kinetic barriers—enough to withstand a small meteor impact—but if anything larger than a bus hit them they'd crack and the colony would be in trouble.

The air bus landed inside of Spire 2's docking bay a few levels above the ground, and the kinetic barriers closed, allowing the hangar to pressurize.

They all filed out of the cart, roughly a dozen miners making way to their homes in Spire 2.

"Look!" someone called from behind the group.

Mark turned around and squinted through the barriers. A weird looking ship approached, the thing resembling a bug. It was making serious headway toward the colony.

"What the hell is that?" another miner asked. The ship slowed down to a crawl as it approached the barriers, to the point where they wouldn't block it, and it passed through, turning sideways and flipping onto its side, exposing the underbelly of the ship to the smaller hangar bay.

He had a really bad feeling about this, and joined a few of the other miners in making a run for the exit.

As they reached the door, alarms began going off. They weren't the breach alarms, either. They were the pirate alarms.

All hell broke loose at that moment, with the bug-like ship firing a dozen metal wads onto the ground, and backing away.

The miners who stayed behind approached the lumps of metal, which unfolded quickly, rising to a full six foot tall height before pulling rifles off their backs. The miners didn't have time to run; the machines opened fire immediately and hammered the unprotected civilians into pieces, splattering them across the floor. The air bus attempted to make an escape, but they turned their fire on it and destroyed it, sending it careening into the far wall in a ball of flame.

"Oh fuck!" Mark yelled, and he and the survivors disappeared through the door and locked it, for whatever good that would do. The grey halls were empty, save for the constant ringing of the alarms.

"Let's get to the Marine barracks!" a miner shouted, and they all sprinted up the hall toward the elevator. The doors were scarcely closed before they heard the door explode into the hallway.

"What the _fuck_ were those things?" one of the four surviving miners shouted.

"I don't know, man, robots or something. Did you see that goddamn eye?" Mark asked.

"Like a flashlight or something," one of the others confirmed.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor, and already they knew it was bad. The doors opened and revealed a pitched battle between the Marines and the robots. To Mark's astonishment, some of the Marines weren't even dressed- it looked like they'd just run into the armory and grabbed a weapon. He gathered that the Marines had been caught completely by surprise. However, they appeared to be holding them at bay for the time being, and they covered the miners' retreat from the elevator.

"What's going on?" Mark shouted at a Marine sergeant he'd seen around patrolling the Spires.

"It's the geth! Fuckin' robots are coming after us for some reason!" the Marine shouted back.

"What do we do?" Mark replied.

"Get the hell out of the Spires!" the Marine yelled, firing a few more shots over their makeshift barricade in the lobby.

Mark nodded and ran for the door to the Marine barracks off the lobby. The other miners followed, crouching low as several shots impacted the walls above them, raining bits of molten metal down onto the floors.

Another squad of Marines pushed past them as they ran, running into another crowd of refugees guarded by the militia forces.

"Get in here!" one Mark recognized as a Spire 2 bartender shouted, brandishing a Lancer rifle. They joined the group of seventy or eighty refugees waiting for evacuation, being done one Kodiak shuttle at a time.

The battle intensified outside, presumably as more combatants joined for both sides. "Did anyone get out a distress call?" Mark asked his bartender friend.

"No, these things swooped in and cut communications before we registered them as hostile. The only distress anyone will detect is the silence coming out of this place… and that could take a few days," the bartender replied.

"What's your name, man?" Mark asked. The bartender shot him an incredulous look.

"Joe Elliot," the bartender replied, turning back toward the door.

"Once this blows over, Joe, drinks are on me. I'll tend the bar," Mark said, laughing nervously.

He got no response as a massive explosion echoed up the halls and rattled them. _Now_ the breach alarms blared, creating a cacophony of noise that was deafening. Another load of refugees was evacuated, moving Mark and company to the next in line to go.

Several Marines retreated through the door before the automated systems locked it down, sealing any survivors outside in the vacuum. Already the sound of the geth running their metallic hands over the exterior searching for weakness could be heard.

"Get these people out of here! Now!" A Marine yelled, his uniform coated in blood and some thick white substance.

The militia began to usher them into the Marine landing bay, where another blue-painted shuttle waited, the door just opening.

"Go! Get in!" another militiaman shouted, pushing another load of civilians into the shuttle as its drive powered up with a high pitched whine, growing steadily louder. They crammed in, and eventually the door shut. The shuttle lifted off and through the barriers, screeching through the sky over the densely-packed prefabs, most burning and spewing their little atmosphere into the open.

Geth could be seen going from prefab to prefab, blowing the doors off the hinges and executing those inside. Eventually the shuttle got out over the open, heading for a staging area where one of the surviving defensive ships was loading refugees.

Then, the shuttle rocked, jolting sideways and entering into a nosedive. Smoke flooded the cargo compartment, choking those who weren't in environmental suits, like Mark's. He held on with a vice grip to the seat, pressed back into the seat by the angle of their dive.

With a sickening smash the shuttle hit the ground, and for a brief moment the air vented through a major split in the floor. Those unprotected suffocated quickly if they hadn't already passed out from the smoke, and Mark felt both his shoulders pop painfully as he was pitched across the cargo hold into the far wall.

In the absence of air, everything was dead quiet. He groaned and tried to get to his feet, seeing now that the back end of the shuttle was bent upwards at a forty-five degree angle from the front, and already someone was pointing a flashlight in to check on the survivors. He hadn't realized they were so close to the landing zone.

Mark raised his hand and reached for the light sputtering, "I-I'm alive!"

What he saw next didn't register until too late- what he thought was an arm turned out to be a rifle, and it spoke a few times. He felt pain all across his abdomen, but it didn't hurt as bad as he thought getting shot would hurt.

Mark wore a kind of bemused smirk as he sunk to the floor, amazed at the lack of pain. Darkness framed his vision as he stared up at the flashlight, still watching him. It raised the rifle again and fired another shot, and there was blackness.

* * *

**October 10, 2166**

**Icarus Station**

**The Illusive Man**

The station was complete, orbiting the brown dwarf Mnemosyne. It was low enough into the magnetosphere that it wouldn't be easily detected. That was primarily why this was chosen, although and important secondary feature was there was already a major magnetic anomaly detected around this planet. Another could be chalked up to natural phenomenon.

He sat in his office, surrounded by a one hundred-eighty degree vista of the swirling brown electrical storms of Mnemosyne. Occasionally lightning arced across the kinetic barriers around the station, providing muted flashes in the office.

Opened on his extranet terminal was his expanded stock portfolio. Expanded meaning he had, when the stock market had plummeted six years ago to what appeared to be certain disaster, he had used all of his funding accrued through his investments and bought big shares in major manufacturers some of which being Altai Mineral Works, Binary Helix, and most importantly ExoGeni Corporation. Of course, they were all invested in through several proxies, and every measure was taken to keep Cerberus' leader out of the spotlight.

Currently, he was worth billions. The stocks all paid dividends and he was steadily gaining net worth. The station was a hefty chunk of his savings, but he was able to absorb that expenditure.

"Sir, your appointment is here," his VI alerted him.

"Send him in," The Illusive Man said, taking a long drag on his cigarette and exhaling slowly, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air next to his desk. The orange light from outside burned inside of the cloud until it dissipated.

A few moments later the doors opened, and a decidedly average man stepped through. The Illusive Man chose his most distinguished feature to be his striking blue eyes, sunken into his face.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Lawson?" he asked.

"Good evening," Lawson said with a heavy accent. "I became aware of your organization after your bombing of Erinle, as many did. What I want to know is, how can I help? As you're no doubt aware, I have several billion credits in business, and could be quite an asset."

"I'm eager to accept most kinds of help, Mr. Lawson, and you would no doubt be an asset. But as businessmen, we both know this isn't a wholly altruistic exercise on your part. What do _you_ want from _me_?" The Illusive Man asked, savvy enough not to agree to anything right away.

"It's quite simple, really," Lawson said, his eyes changing. The Illusive Man knew the look well. He thought he was going to be a shark. "All I want is a safe environment to raise a daughter in, and the facilities to make one."

"A daughter, Mr. Lawson? All the facilities you need are a cheap hotel room and your wife," The Illusive Man replied in an effort to sucker Lawson in to revealing more information than he wanted.

Lawson's brow furrowed. "I'm not married."

"I'm sorry about that," The Illusive Man said, feigning his apology. He knew he wasn't married, but he now had him off guard. "So you want me to provide you with the laboratory facilities necessary to genetically engineer a daughter. What would I stand to gain from that?"

"You'd get my support in your organization," Lawson said. "I'm the biggest single shareholder in several major corporations, and have a net worth well over…"

"Eight billion, was it?" The Illusive Man asked, thumbing disinterestedly through the dossier on his terminal.

"Yes, it was," Lawson mumbled, irked that he missed this opportunity to stroke his ego.

"The deal then would be you support Cerberus and our endeavors, and we provide you with a home for your soon-to-be born daughter?" The Illusive Man summarized. He hadn't gotten much of anything at all out of Lawson, but then again, he realized there wasn't much to get. This man was out for his legacy, and nothing more. Lawson would be easy enough to manipulate, especially with Lawson's daughter running around his space station.

"That's about the size of it," Lawson said, staring at The Illusive Man. Evidently he'd just noticed the ocular implants.

He took another long pull on his cigarette. "I think we can do business, Mr. Lawson."

The men rose and shook hands, and Lawson left the office without any further words. The Illusive Man looked back out at Mnemosyne, watching a particularly big bolt of lightning flash across the window.

He turned around and pulled up his terminal. He searched for and pulled up what companies he knew Lawson had a controlling share in, and those he suspected he had a share in, and did the math. Between the two of them, they controlled eighty-six per cent of human industry, and varying percentages of other sectors, most over fifty, except entertainment and fashion.

The Illusive Man punched up another window, floating in the air before his face. An older man with snow white hair appeared, having been on hold for awhile still. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Mr. Simmons, I've become aware you're trying to get into politics," The Illusive Man said, waving away a dossier floating beside the older man's face.

"Yes, yes I am," Simmons said.

"You call yourselves 'Terra Firma'?" The Illusive Man asked, even though he knew the answer. It was always best to let the politicians explain themselves. They liked to feel important.

"Yes, we are Terra Firma," Simmons answered.

"Tell me about yourselves," The Illusive Man almost ordered. Simmons obeyed, even if being told what to do irked him.

"We're against integration with the Citadel or the alien community at large. Leaving the Citadel was a huge coup, but we have to remain vigilant or the sympathizers will get us mired on the Citadel again," Simmons explained.

"I happen to agree with you totally," The Illusive Man said, lighting another cigarette and pulling on it briefly.

"That's great news, Mr...?" Simmons said, trying again to goad a name from the Illusive Man.

"As long as you're in line with my beliefs, I'll support your candidates," he said. "How are you doing?"

"We've got a spacer seat right now, and a few colonist seats. Nothing from Earth, though, I'm afraid," Simmons explained, having the facts on recall.

"What are you running for?" The Illusive Man asked, honestly. This was one he didn't know, candidates hadn't been officially declared yet.

"Is this connection secure?" Simmons asked.

"It's the most secure connection money can by, Mr. Simmons," The Illusive Man reassured him.

"We've got good candidates lined up for all the spacer and colonist seats for this coming election, and we're going to make a push for Earth seats next election," Simmons said.

"Forward me their dossiers, I'll see who I'll invest in," The Illusive Man said.

Simmons nodded and smiled. "Thank you, I'll have dossiers sent to you right away. How should I get them to you?"

"I have a man that runs a bar on Eden Prime, I'll tell him one of your people are coming with some important documents," The Illusive Man answered.

"Thank you again," Simmons said, giving up on trying to get a name, it would seem. The Illusive Man terminated the connection.

He grinned, sitting in his chair again, snubbing out his cigarette and letting the acrid smoke hang the room.

* * *

**October 11, 2166**

**Arcturus Station**

**Kevin Meer**

In the Office of Naval Intelligence, Colonel Kevin Meer, had a distressing black hole in his communications web. The Hades Nexus had gone dark. He knew there was a major asari colony there, and since the split with the Citadel meant no formal channels were opened between his office and his counterparts in Citadel space, he had to improvise.

Going through back channels, his contact in the Asari Republics had informed him that Asteria had not gone dark, and that all 180 million asari were still alive and well.

So why the hell had Dobrovolski gone dark?

He rubbed his temples, his frustration growing. There wasn't cause to send a mission out to rescue them, not without revealing his borderline treasonous information trade agreement with an asari. Right now it was chalked up to bad weather in space.

Deep in him, though, he knew something was wrong. Call it a gut feeling, but he had mobilized half his department on finding out why the planet had gone quiet.

"John, what do we have on Dobrovolski?" he asked, pointing to his chief researcher.

"Small mining colony, established…"

"Mining colony? Who owns the mines?" Meer shot.

John tapped a few keys, and after a minute came back with, "Altai Mineral Works. Local firm, but business has been booming. They expanded to a few other nearby bodies recently."

_Local…_ "Do they have any offices off-site?"

"I'm showing an office in New York and an office in Tokyo," John said.

"Link me into the comm. buoy network and attach me to the most senior officer from AMW," Meer said.

John walked off to the communications room. All eyes were on Meer. "Alright, the rest of you, keep pulling everything you have on Dobrovolski. Keep me update on any lead. _Any_ lead."

Discreetly he turned to another assistant. "What's the nearest ship to the Hades Nexus?"

"I'll find out, sir," the girl said.

John reentered the main office. "I've got you connected to an AMW representative."

Meer nearly jogged across the floor to John. "He's on now?"

"She is, yes, her name is Hiromi Tanaka, VP of Altai Mineral Works. She was out-system overseeing the construction of the Tokyo office," John said, opening the door.

On a big screen across the wall of the darkened room was the visage of an Asian woman of Japanese descent standing, concern staining her otherwise pretty features.

"Good morning, Ms. Tanaka," Meer said after John closed the soundproof door. "I'm required to tell you this room is soundproofed, and anything we say is strictly confidential unless it constitutes a serious security threat."

"Thank you, Colonel Meer," she said. "Your assistant told me you've got questions about our Dobrovolski operations?"

"Not exactly, ma'am," Meer said. "You may be aware, but four or five days ago Dobrovolski ceased all communications."

"We're aware; our technicians attributed that to solar flare, maybe unusual meteor activity. Dobrovolski hasn't got an atmosphere to deflect meteors, and it's possible a shower disrupted communications," she said.

Meer was incredulous. "If there was a meteor shower disrupting communications with your operations, why is there such a lack of urgency to send a crew to help get things moving again?"

"Our corporate headquarters is on Dobrovolski," Tanaka said, continuing, "but any unusual meteoric activity would be reported by our facilities on Volkov. We know that the Hades Nexus hasn't gone silent, so it stands to reason it's just a problem in Pamyat."

_How the hell did she know that_? Meer thought. "When are your next shipments leaving Pamyat?"

"I'm not at liberty to say over an open connection," Tanaka said.

Meer's omni tool pinged. _Closest ship three hours out- SSV _Lexington_. Redirect?_ He replied in the affirmative.

"We've just dispatched a frigate to investigate," Meer announced. "We'll be in touch with an answer."

"Thank you, Colonel," she said before breaking the connection. _So AMW knows nothing_, he concluded.

He left the communications room and reentered the maelstrom of activity that had become of his usually quiet office. Someone had been good enough to put a countdown to _Lexington_'s arrival up on a screen, and it read 2:58:22.

They continued to search for information, albeit at a far slower pace, knowing that the ultimate answer was on the way. The ship had entered the relays and was now traveling in FTL towards the planet.

Then the timer hit 00:00:00, and they watched footage beamed back live of the _Lexington_ dropping out of FTL in low orbit over Dobrovolski.

The frigate passed over the southern hemisphere, tracking into the northern one quickly. They rose to a higher altitude to get some more ground covered faster and eventually found a site where another frigate had been destroyed surrounded by several shuttles, including one that crashed a few hundred meters out. Even from orbit the bodies were visible as black dots against the white-grey ground.

Meer knew it was going to be bad the second he saw the frigate, but the black cloud hanging low over the surface where the colony would have been turned his stomach into multiple knots. Without wind or an atmosphere the black smoke was vented out through breaches into the building and slowly spread outward in a black mist, obscuring the state of the colony from orbital cameras.

"Oh, shit," someone said, summing up Meer's feelings pretty handily. They all watched for a good minute.

"This is Commander SSV _Lexington_, to Arcurtus Station. Are you getting this?" the voice accompanying the feed said.

"Yes, this is Arcturus, we've got a read on it," Meer replied after blinking a few times.

"Scans aren't showing any life signs, but that could be as a result of the smoke being warmer than the surface and messing with the scans. We'll keep trying," the captain said.

"Keep looking, _Lexington_," Meer said.

"Send a message to the Prime Minister," Meer said in the absolutely silent room. He heard someone leave but couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. He knew that Volkov was also likely destroyed, but would leave that investigation to the military authorities. His role was done.

* * *

_A/N:_

_And to make up for the lull last week, I'm going to try to do three rapid-succession chapters this week- 10, 11, and 12. 12 is in the tubes already, since 11 (this one) was a lot of prep work for later chapters. _

_Thanks as always,_

_JLake4_


	12. Exposure

**October 10, 2166**

**Arcturus Station**

**Amul Shastri**

"What's the situation?" the new Prime Minister, Amul Shastri, asked his military advisors trailing behind him as they moved through the corridors of Arcturus Station.

"We know slavers or pirates struck the Dobrovolski colony," the director of ONI said from the front of the pack.

"Were there any survivors?" Shastri asked, his immediate concern being the people on the ground out there.

"Unfortunately not, an evacuation appears to have been underway, but the frigate trying to get the refugees out-system was destroyed on the launch pad, with all hands. The attackers depressurized the main structures of the colony, killing the vast majority of inhabitants, and… they went door-to-door and executed the rest," ONI said.

"That's barbaric!" Shastri spat, turning the corner toward the conference room. "Who?"

"We don't know who. They were apparently very confident with their jam of the planet's communications, because we found no bodies of foreign agents. They took their time to cover their tracks," a representative from Sixth Fleet said.

"What's our best course of action?" Shastri asked. "We know nothing except we were attacked. No who, no why, just that it happened. Anything from the Cerberus terrorists?"

"No, and attacking humans doesn't fit their MO," ONI replied.

"Could anything be recovered from the logs of the defensive garrison?" Shastri asked.

"Something strong went through and wiped out their navigation data and ships' logs, essentially it wiped their entire computer systems," Sixth Fleet said uncomfortably as they all took their seats around the sleek metal table.

"Who could do that?" Shastri asked, immediately coming to the conclusion it was salarians.

"Asari, salarians, quarians, anybody with a budget and a good computer tech could program a VI that would wipe that data out," ONI answered.

"I want you to work on that," Shastri said. "Fix our goddamn computers so they're respectable. I don't need STG knowing every message I'm sending my wife."

"We've got our best on it," ONI bristled as he responded.

"Okay, back to question one: how do we respond?" Shastri asked.

"We're going to move Sixth Fleet out further, patrolling the outer colonies in the Verge rather than the inner, safer ones," Sixth Fleet's representative said, pulling up a map of the Skyllian Verge and showing where units intended to move. "Scout flotillas are going to be stationed in every outlying system we can base them in, it'll be a few cruisers and proportionally more frigates, but enough to at least guarantee a signal gets out if something goes south."

"We've been working around the clock to harden human communications lines out of the Verge colonies. Until then, what active agents we have in Citadel space are keeping their ears to the ground," ONI replied.

"We can't justify our expansion into the Verge restarting if we start losing colonies. It might even be the batarians," Shastri said, the idea occurring to him. "They're already pissed we're going back in after the Citadel told them we wouldn't."

"Batarians don't really have the tech savvy to pull this off," ONI said, grinning. "They're too busy backing terrorists and gangsters to do the dirty work for them. An actual invasion on the other side of human space from them would be too far out there to be believable."

"Regardless, keep an extra eye on them. They're shifty little shits," Shastri growled. He had a profound distaste for batarians, stemming from their well-established shiftiness to their outright hatred of humanity. Some commentators even speculated Shastri pushed so hard for restarting colonization in the Verge _to spite_ the Hegemony. Interestingly, it didn't hurt his numbers very much.

The news about Dobrovolski had broken a few days back, and that did hurt his numbers. He had to take strong action, and while moving the Sixth Fleet was a start, it wasn't all. After 30,000 deaths, people were going to want blood. All of this, and the elections were less than a month away. Shastri had a bad feeling his career was about to be sunk by this.

* * *

**November 6, 2166**

**Cipritine, Palaven**

**Primarch Fedorian**

Fedorian glanced furtively at the election results gleaned from the comm. buoy network. It wasn't good. They'd put a political party full of isolationists and xenophobes in charge. Their moderate Prime Minister was still in place, but for how long?

He shuffled through a few more pages of intelligence reports coming out of the Alliance, somewhat harried by their efforts to avoid usage of the buoys. Luckily, some humans saw the inevitability of their reentry into the galactic community and were swayed by the promise of large sums of credits, or the company of asari maidens, among other things.

Essentially, they got the information they needed, and Fedorian wasn't interested in how, as long as it didn't involve selling turian state secrets.

Perhaps more troublesome was the disappearance of their colony on the fringes of the Terminus. Ordinarily that wouldn't be a problem, it would be pirates or slavers, but this time no survivors were quoted in news reports or anywhere on the extranet, despite the digging done by the galaxy's intelligence services.

The problem was that "no survivors" didn't fit the methods of slavers or pirates. Slavers tended not to leave survivors, true, but they also didn't waste time to raze entire colonies. Pirates didn't generally kill people if they could help it, and like slavers razing colonies cut into profits. Neither party would waste the time to clean up all evidence of their doings, too. It was an interesting problem.

It wasn't his job to worry for the humans, though, just to worry _about_ them. On the contrary, it was his job to protect the Hierarchy from them, something that hadn't happened a decade ago. In fact, he was planning an Empire-wide "Oma Ker victory parade" featuring the Reserve and Rapid Response Fleets from every turian-held system. The plan was that it would prevent the humans from getting any wise ideas, and show them exactly which species protected the galaxy and _why_.

A console beeped, alerting him to a high-priority message coming in.

_Primarch Fedorian:_

_Contact lost with Triginta Petra colony two hours ago. Waited to give them opportunity to reestablish communications, but no progress has been made. _

_Adm. Lenius_

_30__th__ Fleet_

Fedorian frowned. He issued an order to send a scouting flotilla in to figure out what the trouble was, and sat back. A bad feeling began to well up in his gut, and he amended the order by bringing the 30th Fleet to combat readiness. Something was preying on far flung Terminus colonies…

* * *

**November 7, 2166**

**Triginta Petra Orbit/Lenal System/Sigurd's Cradle**

**Captain Larenus Rigelian**

The HNV _Hyasus_ dropped out of FTL within sight of the planet, and immediately scanners picked up several contacts in orbit.

"Get a message to Fleet. We've caught them in the act," Rigelian ordered his communications officer. He stepped up onto his platform in the center of the room and brought up orange holographic readouts of the ship's systems and the status of the other frigates in the flotilla, as well as the locations of their targets.

"Sir, we're reading six cruiser-sized vessels in low orbit over Triginta Petra, but it looks like they're recalling their troops and getting ready to flee, judging by the heat spikes we're picking up on them," the LADAR officer reported.

"Put us between them and an escape route. Keep them locked down until the fleet arrives," Rigelian said, dragging a talon across the map and designating a point behind the targets that would prevent them from retreating in FTL.

His flotilla, the 248th Scouting Flotilla, consisted of half a dozen frigates and several corvettes for land deployments. The corvettes stayed behind the frigates this time, lacking armament they were no good for the coming space combat.

The frigates assumed a staggered line formation, ensuring any fighters closing to attack would be torn apart by three frigates' GARDIAN point defense grids at any point. They closed the distance between themselves and their objective rapidly, interposing themselves between the attackers and their optimal escape route.

"Can we get a read on where these ships came from?" Rigelian asked his scanner officer.

"I'm running database searches now, Captain," she replied.

He nodded before turning his attention back to the screen. "All units advance on enemies, and close to maximum effective range."

On his map, his six units closed on their six units, still apparently desperately gathering their ground forces. It was an endearing sentiment, never leaving a man behind, but they were now outflanked and were about to take a serious beating.

The offending vessels were now visible on visual terms, and they saw the six distant vessels surrounded by support craft that were presumably shuttles.

"Captain!" the scanners officer shouted.

"What is it?" Rigelian asked quickly, focused on the map.

"The intelligence report is telling me that those ships are geth," she said in a disbelieving tone.

"Geth?" Rigelian asked, genuinely taken aback by the notion.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Rigelian's eyes narrowed. "Let's see what they've been doing behind the Veil for three centuries. All craft: fire at will. Target cruisers first."

The six frigates began firing as rapidly as their weapons allowed; blue munitions struck through space toward the stationary geth targets. The geth finally began to turn the cruisers about, and midway through that maneuver the first to explode did so, having had its kinetic barriers collapse and a lucky shot penetrating the drive core through the exposed hangar bay.

They completed their turn and immediately began firing back at the turians, their white munitions crossing the turians' blue ones, creating a strange light show in the space above the colony.

The fight was evenly matched, though. The cruisers had superior firepower, but were having extreme difficult hitting the frigates, who stubbornly refused to be drawn within GARDIAN range of the geth.

After several minutes of stalemate, the geth changed tactics. The drop ships they'd been picking up flew through the five remaining cruisers and into the midst of the battle, flying straight for the frigates.

The turians attempted evasive maneuvers, but the drop ships smashed into the nearest two frigates to the geth line, shattering them. The two vessels started venting atmosphere and deploying escape pods, which to Rigelian's dismay were destroyed as well.

"Spirits! They're using their drop ships as guided missiles," LADAR observed.

"Evasive maneuvers, all ships, break off contact with the cruisers and target the drop ships," Rigelian ordered, designating a point outside of the cruisers' effective range for the flotilla to regroup at.

"We've got an ETA from FleetCom," communications spoke up. "They'll be here in half an hour."

Rigelian nodded grimly. They had to hold them around Triginta Petra for another half hour. They reached the designated regrouping point and began a ship-to-ship destruction of the drop ships that had pursued them.

He thought quickly. He didn't have sufficient force to engage the cruisers, now outnumbered and outgunned. As long as they had drop ships, they had a deadly defense against any close range attack. He didn't have enough ships to block their escape for long… but an idea struck him.

"Call up the corvettes. Have them each staffed with soldiers and ready for insertion," he ordered. Without question, his communications officer complied.

The corvettes returned to the flotilla quickly, having remained unmolested at a distance from the first battle.

"Here's the plan," he said over the flotilla-wide communications as the geth began closing on them. "Our troops on the corvettes will land in their hangars, plant a warp bomb, and get out. The frigates will cover your approach and departure."

"Yes sir," the response came, unanimously.

"Get the bombs together, pass them out," Rigelian said, watching the range counter decrease quickly. "Quickly."

After several spacewalks the corvettes were equipped with the bombs, and the corvettes lined up behind the frigates, which formed a screen against the charging geth.

The frigates closed to within GARDIAN range for the first time, and the barriers and armor immediately began to get slashed at by the lasers, but the corvettes were spared. They fanned out and landed in three of the five cruisers, leaving the two in between them to get caught in the blasts from either side.

Outside, the frigates blew through the line of cruisers after suffering light damage. They waited on the other side for their barriers to recharge and for the infiltration teams to signal they had planted their bombs.

Upon receipt of that signal, Rigelian had the frigates about-face and speed into the geth formation again, to pick up the corvettes.

Unfortunately, the geth had adapted. The moment the corvettes left the hangars, the opposite cruiser destroyed them. The frigates, too, suffered more damage, one of the four was crippled beyond repair and fell out of formation, doubling back toward Triginta Petra and waiting to deploy escape pods as long as possible.

After blowing through the formation a second time and suffering still more damage, Rigelian called off the attack and the turians fell back from the action, watching the geth prepare to leave.

To his horror, they split up. The three loaded down with bombs began to tear through space towards the colony, and he was forced to detonate the bombs early, before they could destroy the entire force. Two of the geth cruisers escaped into FTL, mere minutes before the fleet arrived to find three badly damaged frigates and a debris field.

Rigelian boarded the flagship of the fleet. In the hangar bay he was met by Admiral Lenius himself, and was whisked away to a conference room off the CIC. Not a word was spoken before that point.

"What happened down there, Captain?" Lenius asked.

"It was the geth, sir," Rigelian reported flatly.

"The geth? Are you aware how absurd that sounds, Captain?" Lenius pressed.

"Yes, sir, however there is a debris field to prove it, as well as the geth likely left on the surface of the planet. We interrupted their attack, and they tried to retreat," Rigelian continued.

"You stopped them?" Lenius asked.

"The Flotilla stopped four of the six of them," he replied.

"Better than none, I suppose," Lenius said after a moment, relenting. "Good work, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," Rigelian said. "Also, Admiral, there are escape pods that were deployed from one of the frigates..."

"We're already picking them up," Lenius said, anticipating the question.

Rigelian was dismissed, and saw the 248th back through the relay towards home, where the ships would be put up in dry dock for a while before they were combat-ready again.


	13. Troy

**November 22, 2166**

**The Citadel**

**Councilor Veskian**

"So you propose we sit still and wait for the geth to attack again?" the hologram of Primarch Fedorian nearly yelled. "That is absurd!"

"We can't risk sending a fleet through the Terminus. If the geth are acting up, we don't need to throw a war with the pirates and gangsters into the mix," Veskian said, raising a hand to calm the Primarch down.

"You do, then," Fedorian answered his own question, deadly calm.

"The Council's hands are tied," Veskian said after a moment. "No show of force from a Council power can be made in the Terminus without stirring up a whole nest of varren."

Fedorian's hologram nodded, rubbing his chin. "We have to respond."

"How do you propose to do that, Primarch, sir?" Veskian asked after a moment.

"What about acting through a third party? Arm someone else to do it," Fedorian proposed.

Veskian chuckled. "And who would do the Hierarchy's dirty work for them? The humans?"

"No, certainly not," Fedorian said quickly. "They're far too bitter, and their government just elected xenophobic representatives to a majority."

"I know, it's not a good sign," Veskian agreed. "Who, then?"

"What about the quarians?" Fedorian said.

"What about them? They don't owe us any favors after how we treated them after the geth," Veskian scoffed.

"Offer them an embassy, or even a position on the Council. Not a full member, mind you, but perhaps some new position. 'Observing member' or some such nonsense," Fedorian said after a few more moments of thought.

Veskian was taken by the idea, but he wasn't totally convinced. "I'll have to talk to the other Councilors, of course."

"Yes, of course," Fedorian agreed. "We've moved several fleets into the outer colonies in the mean time, and naturally none of them are in the Terminus. Those are still exposed. Remember that while you're all 'deliberating.'"

With that, Fedorian's hologram faded out, and the lights came up in Veskian's spacious office. He walked across the room to his work station and sent messages to Marisse and Tevos.

Within the hour the two of them were in his office for one of those backroom talks that tended to decide more policy than the official meetings. The salarian Councilor arrived first, followed by Tevos merely a minute later.

"What's happened?" Tevos asked.

"I've been petitioned by the Hierarchy to ensure some kind of action be taken against the geth after the attack on Triginta Petra," Veskian said, folding his hands behind his back as his colleagues took their seats across the desk from him. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed compared to their normal meetings.

"You know we can't do anything like that," Tevos said quickly.

"We can't. But Primarch Fedorian came up with an interesting proposal," Veskian said.

"What is it?" Marisse asked.

"The quarians. There are a few thousand on the Citadel now, supposedly from a conflict with the geth," Veskian said. "We can outfit them and fund them and send them into the Veil in exchange for an embassy, or a Council seat, or perhaps some sort of nonvoting member status."

"You want to fast-track the quarians onto the Council in order to get them to fight the geth? That is not a very good idea," Marisse said after a second.

"I have to agree," Tevos said as well. "The hanar may not be as upset, and the elcor likely won't care. It's the volus I'm worried about."

"I'm sure the Hierarchy can keep the volus in line," Veskian countered. "They're our client state, after all."

"I've listened to their ambassadors countless times," Tevos replied. "They want a Council seat, and feel that they've earned one by now. If the quarians were to get a seat before them… the quarians, for crying out loud! Nomads from the very rim of the galaxy become part of the Council before the race that formed the economic core of the Citadel."

"You think they want it bad enough to sacrifice client-state status with us?" Veskian asked, concerned.

"Maybe," Tevos suggested.

"Perhaps good compromise is the nonvoting member status. Then we may be able to spin it as gainful for all parties. Quarians reintegrated into galactic community, all races rid of threat of geth," Marisse said.

"We can do that if the turians can keep the volus in line," Tevos said after a moment.

"We will," Veskian shot back, almost instantly.

"Send up the volus ambassador," Tevos said, keeping her eyes on Veskian. He didn't show any sign of being intimidated.

Fifteen minutes later the heavy metallic thuds of a volus as the squat little creature entered the room in the cumbersome metal pressure suit their species was known for.

"Councilors," the volus said, bowing as deeply as his suit would allow.

"Ambassador Jotnan Con, welcome," Tevos said, standing and beckoning the volus to a fourth chair.

"What can I do for you today?" the volus said slowly, inhaling between every two or three words.

"First, everything that is talked about in here is off-the-record and top-secret," Veskian said, looking directly into the lit up eye-sockets of the suit.

"Of course, Councilor," Con said, confusion seeping into his voice slowly.

"There is a problem brewing in the Terminus systems," Veskian began. "The Hierarchy has dependable intelligence that the geth are striking from beyond the Veil at isolated Terminus colonies. According to the asari the humans lost a colony in the Hades Nexus a month ago, and a few weeks back one of our colonies was attacked. That isn't news- what is news is the geth connection. We played it off as exceptionally stupid pirates but if we start taking more shots the odds are against our being able to keep it secret."

"It was geth?" Con asked, still digesting that news. "What do you need of the volus?"

"We've formulated a plan," Marisse spoke up, figuring that if the turian suggested it the plan may not fly as well, seeing as they're on the same team. She didn't want it to look like the turians were screwing the volus over. "We want to fund a quarian war on the geth. They stand to regain their planet, the Terminus won't think anything of the Migrant Fleet passing through, and the geth will be destroyed."

"Why, pray tell, would the quarians help the Citadel? Didn't we cast them out 300 years ago?" Con asked, arriving nicely at the point they wanted him to arrive at.

"There would have to be an incentive," Marisse continued.

"What kind of incentive?" the volus asked, suspicious now, probably figuring out what was happening.

"We want to offer them an observer seat on the Council in exchange for the deed. We'll finance the war, provide their damaged ships with safe haven, and take in refugees. It will all work out if everything goes to plan," Marisse finished. "The Citadel will look like benevolent heroes for aiding with the inevitable crisis among the quarians, the quarians get their homeworld back, and the geth don't raid any more colonies."

"That works out well," Con said after a minute. It was just long enough to get everyone's hopes up. "Except the volus will be passed over for a Council seat again, and this time for a race that unleashed a synthetic menace on us. How does it make sense that for setting the geth loose the quarians are awarded a Council seat?"

"It's not a full seat," Veskian protested. "It will be a nonvoting seat, they'll be observers. Able to participate in debate, but that's it."

"Still, it's more than the volus have been offered in centuries of waiting," Con replied. He attempted to fold his stubby little arms across his chest but found they weren't long enough, and they fell back to his side.

"This situation is exceptional," Veskian said. Despite the rest of the Council's efforts, this was now a debate between the turian Councilor and the volus ambassador. Tevos and Marisse both just watched from either side of Ambassador Con.

"Ah, yes, well the Vol Protectorate will be sure to release a virus into the economic systems and clean it up for our Council seat, if there is a Council around after the galactic economy crashes. Or do we have to sabotage the galaxy some other way for our seat?" the volus said, his statements dripping with sarcasm.

"No, that isn't necessary," all three Councilors said in one way or another.

"What is necessary?" Con asked, now getting the Councilors to the point _he_ wanted _them_ at.

"My counterproposal is this. Both the quarians and volus become full members. You'll still get your quarian war and the volus will finally get our seat. Everyone walks away happy," Con said flatly. He leaned back and waited for their response.

Veskian caught Tevos' cool glance. "Ambassador, could you give us a few minutes to discuss your proposal?"

"Yes, of course," the Ambassador replied, jumping down from his chair and waddling away out of the room, leaving the Councilors alone.

"What do you think?" Veskian asked the other two.

Marisse spoke up first, rubbing her chin. "Seems logical. Volus have wanted seat, we need quarian participation in the war on the geth and something to bait them into it. What would be wrong with adding volus to the Council?"

"I don't see one," Tevos said quietly. "While a species has to earn a seat, I suppose we can say the volus did for their economic efforts, and the quarians when they defeat the geth to save Council race colonies in the Terminus."

"So we're agreed then?" Veskian asked, impressed by the enormity of this decision. No race had joined the Council for 1000 years, since the Krogan Rebellions when his own race joined it. Now they were essentially going to add two within a year of each other. This could seriously destabilize the Citadel, but with luck the massive impending war with the geth would distract them long enough, or perhaps convince the rest of the galaxy the three of them made the correct decision. He managed to hide these thoughts relatively well, though, as neither Tevos nor Marisse said anything.

"Tell Ambassador Con that we will put the volus on the Council when we do the quarians. Find me a way to get in contact with the quarian Admiralty," Tevos said into her omni tool. Downstairs in that moment elements of C-Sec were mobilized to start searching the quarian refugee camps for high-ranking officials, and a small celebration began in secret in the volus embassy.

* * *

**December 1, 2166**

**Triginta Petra**

**Saren Arterius**

The shuttle eased into the atmosphere between the patrols keeping the planet quarantined. By some luck they hadn't seen it on their LADAR scopes, or had ignored it assuming one of their own was passing through.

That wouldn't have been too far from the truth. The shuttle Saren flew was a decommissioned Hierarchy shuttle. It had been patched up in the Terminus and modified to make it deep-space and FTL capable. It looked like a monster, but it got the job done.

He set down in an isolated area and left the shuttle, covering it with camouflage netting.

News of an attack on the planet had been slow to get out, and it reeked of censorship to anyone and everyone with half of a brain. Saren had decided that he'd investigate himself, perhaps he'd finally found the thing he'd been searching for…

First he found the nearest settlement, a small agricultural community of about 200 turians. Posing as an official investigator he interviewed at least half of them in the first day before relocating to a larger settlement of around 1000 turians.

At the second settlement he interviewed a few more, but paid the most attention to the damage.

There were odd impact marks. The rounds weren't right, somehow. The impacts displayed electrical scorch marks radiating outwards from the round, like phasic rounds. Ordinarily that wouldn't be anything to question, but _every_ round was like that. An entire force using phasic rounds was asking for trouble if something armored came onto the field.

The witnesses all seemed evasive. They mentioned batarians, maybe, or humans. They couldn't tell which. Some even suggested quarian refugees. Saren found their testimony useless; as it was clear they were evading questions under orders from someone higher up.

What really nagged him was that the attackers had left no bodies or equipment behind that he could find. They cleaned up remarkably well for forces under attack by a turian flotilla and pressed for time. Especially if they were pirates, as the press releases had suggested.

As he ambled through the streets he avoided craters and debris yet to be cleaned off the streets, examining the broken windows and walls of the houses, he came to a wall of rubble that appeared to have fallen off the façade of a nearby building, but had yet to be touched. A curious clicking sound drew his attention, so he mounted the pile of rubble and climbed, careful to not get seen doing so.

Upon cresting the debris, he looked down at someone shining a flashlight up at him, almost blinding him. It did look like a quarian…

"Who are you?" he asked. "Do you need help?"

There was a strange trilling sound as the flashlight beam seamed to narrow. Saren's eyes narrowed as he tried to see through the light when a series of short reports issued from a rifle he couldn't see.

The rounds impacted the rubble below him, and he jumped backwards and tumbled off the debris, clattering down to the ground with a groan.

_What was that?_ he thought frantically. He drew his pistol and mounted the wall again, rolling a grenade down from the top as he reached it.

An explosion ripped through the air, and the shockwaves caused the debris to get seriously unstable, although Saren was quick enough to grab onto a window sill as the rubble collapsed, and he dropped down as the debris settled again.

Authorities were not far off. Already he could hear sirens as they tore toward the explosion, fully equipped to deal with anything with the firepower to cause an explosion.

The thing that attacked him gurgled and white fluid sprayed out of it in short bursts as it tried to move. He snapped a few pictures with his omni tool and made his way away from the scene as a gunship and two air cars deposited a dozen troops on the ground outside of the alley, rifles drawn.

That's all Saren saw, and he ran back through town to a cab stand, where he boarded a cab and flew back to the first village.

By the time he arrived, it was night and most people were asleep. Retreating to the hidden shuttle was easy, and he was streaking through the atmosphere minutes later.

He flipped through the photos he'd taken. It hardly seemed possible, but the thing looked like a geth. How could it be a geth? They were close to the Veil, sure, but the geth had _never_ travelled beyond it.

He wondered if they were related to that monster he'd seen on Tuchanka, in that tomb. It haunted him, what he'd done to those batarians. It shouldn't, but it did. The thought of that image drove away a lot of his civilized traits, leaving behind something angry, something… feral. Frankly, it terrified him that he could become that.

He shook off that coldness with some difficulty as he flew into orbit, again avoiding the frigate patrols easily.

With a few quick clicks he opened up an extranet connection through one of the patrolling frigates' signals, making it appear as though the following broadcast would come from someone aboard the ship. He uploaded the two pictures of the geth to his online journal. If the geth were attacking, people had to know. With a brief caption penned to the two of them he published the editorial to the extranet as he reached the relay and left the cluster to disappear into the Terminus again.

* * *

**December 19, 2166**

**Nik'Reegar vas Sovereign**

**Rannoch Orbit**

The coded message had been received from a citizen on the Citadel. They were looking for the representative of the Migrant Fleet with some gusto; something important was clearly going on.

"Master, the organics are searching for an emissary of our people," Nik'Reegar said at the heart of Sovereign, a glowing silver orb suspended above a black pit in the heart of the ship. It had become the real sight of Pilgrimage, as the rite had been changed by a vote of the Conclave, something that hadn't been hard to impress upon the now-suitless representatives. They had been upgraded, they saw the light.

His son had just turned 10, and was not yet ready for Pilgrimage. Young Kal would be soon, and envied his father's ability to breathe fresh air and not hide behind a mask. His mother had not seen been enlightened, though, something disappointing to Reegar. It would be no matter, though. Time was on his side.

_Go to them, then. Their communications are most enlightening to their intentions. It will make the path to uplifting… far easier._

"Yes," Nik'Reegar said, not informed but trusting in Sovereign, which he was rapidly being taught was no ordinary ship.

He left Sovereign, traveling through the decks towards a hangar bay. "How have we come so far?" he wondered aloud, amazed at their efforts over the past decade. Passing quarians, some still suited and likely on their Pilgrimage, paid him no mind. He was well known amongst the Fleet.

He got into a shuttle and made way to a bigger, FTL-capable ship, and blasted off, leaving the Fleet behind.

* * *

A week later he stood aboard the bridge and watched the Citadel appear from the nebula, seemingly like a ghost. He'd known what it looked like—obviously—but had never seen it in person. He was awed by the sight.

"Unknown ship, what is your cargo and destination?" the speakers said suddenly, coughing to life after a long period of silence.

"Citadel Control, this is the MFV _Baleira_, seeking permission to dock at the Presidium. We carry Admiral Nik'Reegar vas Sov—vas Rayya," the helmsman said as he piloted the ship toward the Citadel.

"Standby MFV _Baleira_," Citadel Control replied. Nik'Reegar waited impassively, arms crossed in the black exosuit he'd donned to keep up appearances with the Citadel races.

"Understood," the helmsman replied, cancelling the _Baleira_'s momentum with forward-facing thrusters, per Control's request.

After a half hour of waiting the speakers crackled again. "MFV _Baleira_, permission to dock at Presidium bay P-40."

"Thank you Control," his helmsman said, accelerating the ship toward the indicated bay.

Reegar felt a tug on his suit and looked down to see Kal looking up at him. "Dad, why are you wearing a suit?"

"Because it's what the others expect to see," Nik replied coldly. "Never mention that off of this ship."

"Alright," Kal said, walking back into the ship muttering, "Bosh'tet."

* * *

Hours later Reegar found himself in the Council chambers in the Citadel Tower, facing a turian, a salarian, and an asari. At his side stood Kal, silent as he'd been ordered, brought along as a tool meant to inspire sympathy in the Council.

"Admiral, we have a proposition," the asari announced.

"What is it, your Excellency?" Reegar replied, bowing deeply.

He raised his head to see the Councilors eying him with odd looks on their faces. _Laying it on a little thick, not so formal_, he thought.

"We seek your aid in dealing with the geth," the asari continued. "They've begun to attack outside of the Veil, and no Council race can attack them without raising a fury in the Terminus."

"We may be able to do it, however, what is in it for us?" Nik'Reegar asked, smiling broadly behind his mask. This was all too perfect.

"We would be willing to offer you reinstatement into the galactic community. On top of that, it is a deed worthy of being a part of the Citadel Council, giving up so many of your peoples' lives for the galaxy at large," Veskian said. "It would be very noble."

"Indeed," Reegar replied, doing a good act of pretending to think about it.

"If you need time to think about it, Admiral…" Marisse began, letting him fill in the blanks.

"No, that would not be necessary, I am sure the Migrant Fleet can put an end to this scourge for once and for all," Reegar said with bravado.

"We would be willing to help finance the war," Veskian offered after hearing out Reegar's announcement.

"That will not be necessary," Reegar replied. "We've been preparing for some time, and with the fight we find ourselves embroiled in now, we need no funding. We're fighting for our lives. However, this news will serve as a welcome boost in morale."

The Council was astonished by their luck. They weren't even going to have to pay!

"We'll take in any of your noncombatants, of course, as a gesture of reconciliation and friendship," Tevos said.

"Thank you, Councilor, we will keep that in mind. If ships of the Fleet appear, please do offer them quarters," Reegar replied.

"Thank you again, Admiral. We had never expected the quarian people to be so forgiving of our past relations," Tevos announced, in closing. "We hope this is the beginning of a productive friendship."

"Indeed, it will be, I am quite sure of it," Reegar replied, bowing less ridiculously.

The meeting was dismissed, and the quarian lead his son back toward their ship, passing by several of his kind who nodded in recognition of his position.

_By the Ancestors, they're trusting_, he thought. _All the better, we will enlighten them_.


End file.
